


A Burden to Shoulder *hiatus*

by kirschteinkyojin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward First Times, Creepy Ardyn, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a little Ignis/OC, because when isn't he tbh, there is Ignis/Gladio if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschteinkyojin/pseuds/kirschteinkyojin
Summary: Prompto didn't know when Noctis would return.Hell, he didn't know if he ever would.But every time that Prompto slept, the sun seemed to draw in closer,and somehow for Prompto, that was enough to hope one day he would.(Okay so this is like your classic 10-year fic about Prompto coping after Noct's disappearance, hope you enjoy!)





	1. Chapter 1

One would be right in assuming that an eternal nighttime would usher in little but a bitter coldness as the fruits of its disastrous labor. Six years into The Darkness and the concept of harvest, what once would have been considered a base product of nature’s design and evolution, was little more than a memory that seemed to slip further from humanity’s grasp with every passing day… or night… or whatever hell time it was.

It was as if the wheel had been invented twice over on the day the ‘scientists’ (because it seemed more of a kindness to refer to them as such, rather than ‘those still alive who were reasonably educated’) discovered they could grow Lucian tomatoes without needing the sun. Under the intense, manufactured light the ladies at the power-plant busted their asses over to keep up and running, the small but invaluable substance was allowed to thrive.

Prompto had concluded once- in a moment of hallucinogenic exhaustion, when his pangs of hunger had reached an all-time high, somewhere in the second year- that humans were not all that unlike those tiny tomatoes. They were vulnerable, prone to bruising, full of red juices on the inside and didn’t stick around nearly as long as favourable before they shriveled up and rotted away.

Sometime not long after that thought, Prompto decided he didn’t like eating the tomatoes anymore. It wasn’t a great loss, there was still a few remaining cans to salvage, and there were the cured meats locked away tight inside old bank volts to be rationed out accordingly. Even more precious however, were the red hot and miraculously ever-ripe chili peppers which grew on the rare, fertile patches that existed between the rocks on the slope of the scalding Rock of Ravatogh. It was as if the capsicum were a mystical invention of the Astrals; though Prompto doubted the fiery god Ifrit- whose corpse legend boasted to lay defeated beneath the magma- held any kindness in his heart to purposefully grant nourishment for humanity, who he ever so despised.

The accurately dubbed challenge of ‘pepper hunting’ had become one of Prompto’s most favoured expeditions, if he could truly find any venture into the daemon-infested darkness to be at all pleasurable. Prompto was a man quick on his feet, and someone who had- before The Darkness- braved the heights of the mountain in search of vastly different treasure. After multiple times bracing the excursion, Prompto worked with fluid familiarity through the hoard of daemons he knew favoured the heaty solace of the scalding rock surface, finding the precious pockets where the ripened peppers waited eagerly to be plucked.

 

Prompto was about three fifths of his way back down the slopes of the rock when he caught sight of the blinking of light in the distance. On, off, repeated faster, then on again. It was a code of understanding between the hunters and everyone else within the organized party of survivors living in Lestallum. It spelled help was available if need be and even more pressingly, it was a question as to whether or not Prompto had been devoured by a beast of The Darkness during his hunt. Prompto flashed a response that he was making progress using the torch clipped to the grimy and slightly too snug coat that had been declared his own when temperatures had dipped too low to make-do with his favoured sleeveless jackets any longer.

The combination of the weight of the peppers crammed into the duffle bag on his shoulder, and the blinking light of hope in the lessening distance gave Prompto the needed energy to continue down the rest of the mountain with ease, still ever mindful of his footing as to not make any unnecessary sound.

 

At least a half hour passed before Prompto reached the glowing haven of the hunter’s truck, headlights blindingly sharp, though he was all the more thankful for it.

“How goes Old Lestallum?” Prompto skipped around to the back of the truck, tossing the duffle bag into the back before climbing over and inside himself, tapping lightly against the glass peering into the front seats.

“Found another half-crate of elixirs and some decent enough bandages under the floorboards at the drug store.” Antonia perked up only slightly, craning her neck back from the driver’s seat to offer Prompto a short and curt nod in the general direction of the beaten cardboard box nestled at his feet. As she turned back round to start the ignition, the light reflecting back off the dashboard made the woman’s dark skin glow. It was then that Prompto was able to notice more clearly the heavy evidence of a scuffle paved into her skin. Procuring the medical supplies must have been a real fight it seemed, and part of Prompto suddenly felt a whole lot guilty for having such a leisurely time shooting down goblins and snatching up peppers.

Antonia was a hell of a lot taller than Prompto, that was not so much of a difficult challenge to beat, yet Prompto gained a slight advantage with his superior upper-body strength. Everyone who knew the woman accepted that her true power came from her legs, long and muscular. Some of the male hunters had once japed that before The Darkness, Antonia would have made a fine swing dancer, like the ones found in the moody bars Prompto had heard once littered some of the darker alleys of Insomnia. Antonia had replied that she could just as well use her legs to snap the hunter’s arm in two; and Prompto didn’t doubt that for a second.

“And a _s-hw-et_ of _j-h-umper_ cables from the _t-w-runk_ of a wrecked car.” Taine added almost incoherently through gritted teeth, a small screwdriver between them.

In comparison, Taine was a considerably smaller then Prompto in all regards, his skin was pale, though for the most part clear, not clustered with scars of acne and freckles like Prompto’s own. The man was scalped, contrasting greatly with the mass of short black curls Antonia kept crafted neatly in a bun. Though something which mirrored a crown of wires rested atop Taine’s head, fixed together and intertwining one another, attached to headphones he wore. The short man’s eyes remained glued to the crippled radio between his hands even as the truck turned onto the main road and picked up considerable pace. Taine reached up to retrieve the screwdriver from his mouth, bringing it down to twist at a screw on the radio, lifting up a strand of loosening tape holding the poor thing together, and rearranging a set of yellow and blue wires accordingly.

“How’s it sounding T, roads clear?” Antonia queried, grey eyes darting up to the rearview to check for any daemons straggling behind before focusing her gaze back to the road ahead.

The radios were a relatively new phenomenon to the resistance against The Darkness, and Taine, with his wide eyes and nimble fingers adapted to tinkering, was one of few who knew well enough how to operate the make-shift form of communication with other members of the rallied survivors.

“Sounds like the North-East road is pretty crowded right now, and I’m hearing mixed reports of Mindflayers too. Better to make our way West and circle back up.” Taine’s eyebrows craned in, his hand cupping over the headphones to mask interference.

“Surly the Mrylwood roads would be quicker?” Prompto interjected, though the slight edge of panic creating an undignified squeak to his voice made him quick to retreat in embarrassment.

“You really want to get close to the Vesterpool with just the three of us here?” Antonia scoffed, “I know you’re a Glaive n’ all Freckles, but I’m not risking anyone’s life here because you think you can take down some of the bigger guys.”

“T-that’s not it!” Prompto stammered awkwardly, “Just… do we have the gas to make it Westward?”

A silence followed, interjected eventually by a deep sigh before the truck made a sharp left turn, jarring Prompto’s hipbone against the walls of the trunk, to which he winced.

“We’re not going West.” The tone was sharp and adamant, and Antonia pinched the bridge of her nose, a habit Prompto had grown accustomed to witnessing when the woman was deep in consideration.

“Don’t tell me you mean to take us down an unmarked road? That’s even riskier than the other idea!” Taine interjected too, elevating Prompto with a slight relief that his own contribution had not been all that moronic.

“Prom’s right, we don’t have enough fuel to go West, and I know for sure heading towards the Vesterpool is going to be even more dangerous. Sticking to side roads may be our only option.” It was a difficult call, yet untimely Prompto accepted Antonia’s decision as the correct one. The woman was cleverer then most around, and Prompto trusted his life with her. He had to.

Prompto swallowed his anxieties, leaving them to flutter restlessly in his stomach like the beating of moths wings. He brandished his gun.

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Is all he said, sitting up slightly within the trunk, crawling his way to the center. He trained his eyes around the expanse of the empty plain of grassland and dark hills surrounding them, trying desperately to ignore the way it seemed as if they were growing around him, the hills reaching up higher and higher, swallowing him in.

 

 

*

 

 

The memory surfaces only in flashes. Prompto doesn’t recall how he had managed to carry his feet along the winding maze of corridors crammed within Zegnautus Keep. He had shot Ardyn, point-blank between the shoulder blades. The caliber of the weapon, and the lack of distance between them should have rendered the chancellor dead in an instant. But it didn’t. Ardyn rose as if he’d suffered nothing more than a mere tumble. He tilted his hat in a gesture of mock good will, departing; the flash of some daemonic and otherworldly darkness pooling from his eyes as he left, basking wickedly in his triumph.

Prompto’s eyes must have been glaring relentlessly into the crystal when Gladio’s voice ruptured its way into the blonde’s frazzled mind. A heavy hand against his back, squeezing lightly in an attempt to draw Prompto back into the fray. Or, perhaps it was a touch of comfort, he never quite truly registered, the entire notion had been rendered disjointed in his mind, and all Prompto truly remembered clearly was Gladio telling him they needed to move, fast. The Shield hoisted Ignis up as to carry him on his back, and looked back again down to address the shaking blond. Or was he really shaking? Perhaps the ground itself was moving instead. Gladio’s legs seemed to stand unstable to the same effect. Was it the exhaustion? Nerves?

“You have to lead the way.”

And so Prompto moved his feet, one after the other in a half-run, gun poised and then firing at anything that moved within his eye-line without so much as a second to register. The fit of adrenalin he remembers had subsided as soon as the three men reached a set of doors leading to a balcony outside the Keep. Prompto staggered his way towards the railing and clutched on until his knuckles turned white.

Where was Noctis?

Prompto’s head fell to his side, then shot round to the other. He took a sharp intake of air through his nose before his brows dipped and he could feel tears threatening with a sting in the corners of his eyes.

Prompto was always stood beside Noctis. So where was he? He couldn’t have just gone. No, no, Noct fancied himself far too much to just disappear. He needed the moral support of the three men always surrounding him. Noctis practically had everything done for him, his meals prepared, his clothes sown together, he was told how to behave in the social situations he detested. It was comical. Noctis was lazy and reserved but still somehow still boisterous and slightly manic. Noctis, the perfectly imperfect prince who Prompto’s heart ached for every time he so much as caught a glimpse of those rich, glassy crystals-for-eyes.

_'He can’t be gone’_

The words ran on repeat in Prompto’s mind, unsure in his trance if he had muttered them out loud or not.

He couldn’t be gone, or else- at the time at least- Prompto wasn’t sure he could keep on living.

The next thing Prompto could remember clearly was the moment The Darkness arrived. As if like a bullet shooting through flesh, a blast of cold air strong enough to wind Prompto on the spot seemingly materialized and in the instant it had arrived it had also disappeared, taking with it the light of the sun.

But that couldn’t be possible, he had thought. It had been the break of dawn, just moment before he had seen the light piercing through the city line of Gralea, as far back as the tundra’s of snow that sat at the bottom of the sky. But it was gone, and the world faded into black nothingness and with that erupted the chatter and shrill and shrikes of daemons, materializing in every direction his eyes could see.

“What is it? What Happened?” Ignis pleaded, his hands clutching tighter at the fabric on Gladio’s shoulders, the larger man stood deadly still in a similar suspension of disbelief as Prompto.

The blond parted his lips to respond, but all that came out was a dry and wearied croak. His let out another shuddered breath before trying again, eyes wide and unblinking at the display of madness descending on the world below.

Gladio spoke before Prompto had the chance.

“The end of the damn world.”

 

 

 *

 

 

An uncomfortable silence nestled in the air; no sound except that of the engine and the tread of tyres against the dry dirt road. Despite his seclusion in the trunk of the vehicle, Prompto could feel the tension radiating off his two companions in the drivers and passenger seat. He knew Antonia and Taine could sense it to, the fear that coupled such unknowingness. It was a sense of pure dread and a lack of any trust for one’s natural surroundings, though it was an emotion that was always left unspoken. If no one voiced their fears out loud then perhaps they weren’t there, perhaps it’d give those beside you the piece of minded needed to keep a clear head.

Prompto tried to ignore the foreboding notions of danger with a happier thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal, and he knew that during his absence Ignis had made his rounds to procure the two’s monthly rations. That, combined with a couple of the bright red peppers crammed into his bag, would mean he had a hot meal to look forward to.

Prompto savored the image of the crunch against his teeth in his mind. The chilies were served at their best slightly undercooked, still hard with the fiery flavor packed neatly inside, ready to pop in an explosion of hot, tongue-throbbing flavor. The taste of the peppers faintly reminded him of the spicy kick that could be found on the stall kebabs from the Lestallum market. Though besides the nostalgia, Prompto was even more grateful for boost of adrenaline the chili peppers gave him, for they were hot enough to make his eyes water and his lips sting, and to feel such a thing reminded him that he was in fact still very much alive.

 

The truck jolted harshly and Prompto fell forward, flat onto his face against the cool metal of the trunk.

“Ow!” He hissed, jolting up sharply, eyes darting around in a frantic panic, “What was that?”

“I-I don’t know, the road was clear, I couldn’t have hit something I couldn’t-“ Antonia’s stammers fell short at her lips, and Prompto knew without turning back that she was looking at the exact same thing he was.

Bubbling at the wheels of the truck, right beneath them, deep purple pools of thick liquid and gasses began to emerge, spreading wider and wider. Then suddenly, a deep and guttural groan rang at his ears and Prompto knew exactly what was going to happen if Antonia didn’t put her foot down onto the gas pedal _fast_.

“Go now!” Prompto screamed and Antonia thrust her foot down. The truck shrieked and the tyres struggled against the deep swamp below them before they jolted forward, escaping the immediate scene not a fraction of a second before the Red Giant, no- _two_ , erupted from the ground with a destructive urgency.

“Shit! _Shit!_ ” Antonia cursed, head snapping back and forth between the road and the rearview to observe the scene. Prompto rose to his knees, gun shaking in one hand, so he grasped hold of it with both in an attempt to steady himself.

It wasn’t even a question as to whether or not the daemons had seen them. Prompto’s eyes looked on frantically at the scene developing before him, straining to hold his ground as the truck tore way down the road in an attempt to keep distance between themselves and the two Red Giants _sprinting_ after them.

“OH FUCK! Fuckfuckfuck!” Taine cried out, flailing helplessly in the passenger’s seat until Antonia pulled up a black metal crossbow from the gap between their seats.

“Go help Prompto!” she ordered without taking her eyes off the road. Taine eyed up the weapon with a gush of fanatic panic before nodding, his entire body shaking, and grasping the weapon in his hands.

Prompto aided the smaller man as he opened up the latch on the back window of the truck, and pulled him through the gap into the trunk beside him. Prompto was unsure Taine had even grasped his surroundings before he let go of his arm and returned both hands to his gun, pointing upwards and directing three shots into the chest of the closest advancing giant.

“We can’t lead them to the city!” Prompto yelled back has he aimed again, biting his lip harshly as he fired, “Shit-“ missed.

“I know!”

The closest Red Giant raised its arm, the ferocious fiery sword in its hand suddenly swinging down with a large clatter against the road just at the foot of truck, missing them by an inch. The eruption forced the ground to spark with flames, then shake and split, lifting the vehicle up off the ground for a second before dropping back down with a crash, and Prompto and Taine both fell roughly down against the metal beneath them.

“How are we supposed to fight them like this?” Taine interjected Antonia, shakily regaining his position and taking a shot with the crossbow, which pierced deep into the neck of the second giant. The beast screaked loudly in pain but barreled forward down the road nevertheless.

“We don’t have the distance to stop, they’ll be right on top of us before we know it!”

Prompto searched around wildly, eyes quickly catching sight of Antonia’s spare machete and its holster at the right of his feet. Prompto dived for it, fastening it to himself and forcing himself up onto his feet, griping hold of the roof of the truck for support, shaking the hair the wind thrashed into his eyes.

“We can still outrun them.” Prompto scowled at the daemons ahead of him, their sickly features caused a dull throb deep in his stomach, and just the mere sight of the creatures brewed an anger so strong it built up like bile in Prompto’s throat and had his entire body shaking with rage.

He wanted nothing more than to eradicate every last daemon off the face of the earth, or what was left of it at least. They posed to him as nothing more than a constant reminder of fear, and of death, and of misery, and of a world without Noctis around to destroy The Darkness and bring back a light, not just to the sky, but inside Prompto himself.

 

Prompto waited for the right moment he could strike, not gifted with such fantastic abilities as to warp to the very destination he wished in an instant. Prompto needed to time this perfectly, his life truly depended on it.

It was as the closest giant’s sword began its decent in a similar fashion it had before, aiming to thrust down and split the truck in two, that the blond moved. Prompto leaped ahead, taking one step before he pushed off and jumped, not stopping for an instant as soon as his feet touched down against the length of the giant’s sword. He sprinted up, ignoring the pooling heat on the soles of his feet, his gun fixed up in one hand as he pulled out the machete from the holster at his chest with the other. One shot to the jaw, another just missing the creature’s eye. As soon as Prompto’s first foot reached the flesh of the giant’s arm, he thrust the machete down, dragging the blade as hard and as deep as he could, ripping at the flesh as he continued up. The sudden pools of black blood which pulsated from the beast’s veins threatened Prompto to slip, though he carried on, ignoring the danger to reach his target. Prompto fired again, this time hitting the giant’s right cheek, to which the red beast screamed deep and guttural, and fell to one knee, reaching its hand up to shield its face. But it was too late, and Prompto made a second leap as his foot bounced against the shoulder, and in one swift movement he dissolved his gun in a flash of blue light and grasped hold of the blade with two hands above his head, yelling out with pure rage as he thrust the weapon down and directly into the Red Giant’s left eye socket.

The daemon erupted in a roar again and its second leg gave way.

Prompto’s victory was soon vanquished however, as the enormous, calloused hand of the second giant snatched down onto him, grasping Prompto hard within its palm.

“AGH!” Prompto yelped, as a throbbing pain pierced at his left side, and he felt one- maybe more- of his ribs crunch inside of him.

 

It was at moments such as this, when Prompto found himself in a predicament that would seemingly see his short and for the most part, unfulfilled life, end in an instant; that the young man had to remind himself that he was in fact- not alone. Back before The Darkness, he knew that if his life were so much as threatened, one of three men would instantly appear at his side, ready to take the blow themselves or defuse the matter altogether. But now Prompto was not so sure, life was ever more precious with over three quarters of the population eradicated. The threat of daemons had become an occurrence that was not so much a probability, but rather inevitable. Why should someone he hardly knows, hunters- such as Antonia or Taine, who Prompto had been forced to partner with by the small and unorganised council of survivors- go out of their way to risk their rare lives by saving him from his own failures?

Because they were all still human after all. Human’s with a pack mentality and a desperate need to protect. Even more so, perhaps the idea of saving another’s life was all that could truly be considered an achievement in such a disastrous world, where people struggled at every turn to find means of maintaining their basic humanity.

 

Taine fired an arrow which pieced the eye of the Red Giant far deeper than Prompto’s blade had with the last. And as the beast thrashed and shrieked in pain, Prompto found the opportunity to escape, slashing wildly with the blade against the joints of the giant’s fingers, until its grip was destroyed and Prompto fell with a heavy thud onto the road.

“Hurry!” The short man lunged forward over the truck, extending his arm out as the vehicle carried on rolling down the track.

Prompto ignored the sharp pain in his side, and mustered up the last fragments of energy he could fathom to push up off the ground and start in a sprint after the truck. His feet barrelled down with urgency, an arm swinging out in front of him, brushing against Taine’s fingertips in an attempt to latch hold. Antonia slowed down as much as she dared, eyes peeled behind her onto the two Red Giants behind them, one incapacitated, the other startled but not completely out for count. Prompto groaned and hissed, pushing on that little bit harder, until Taine was able to grasp hold of his arm, and haul the blond up into the truck.

Antonia picked up the speed, and soon enough they had made enough distance for the Red Giants to consider them no longer worthy of their efforts. Prompto wheezed and choked for breath, coughing and spitting slightly on his hands and knees, the retch only reminding him of the stabbing pain in his side, and he doubled over and cursed.

“Ha- ha- t-thanks.” Prompto offered Taine honestly through his pants for breath.

“Don’t mention it.” Taine gasped for air himself, rubbing his eyes and letting his back fall against the inside of the truck.

 Prompto rested his hand as delicately as possible at his side, examining for damage. He could already sense where a bruise would erupt, as well as a slight warm wetness of blood, confirming that the giant had in fact pierced his skin within its grasp. The blond winced again, and sighed as the exhaustion hit him, and he let his body slide down until he was lying on his front, cheek pressed against the cool metal, eyes fluttering shut.

 

 

*

 

 

The cheap spinning fan that sat at the diner counter caused the pile of receipts clipped to a metal board above the cooking hobs to rattle and flutter each time the faux breeze turned onto them.

 _“-EXINERIS Industries. We’re here for you- powering homes, powering lifestyles.”_ The radio chattered, though the sound seemed to fall numb and faded at Prompto’s ears, as if he were hearing it faintly from a different room.

He sat alone in the diner booth, which was enough of a troublesome indication that something was not quite right. Prompto’s head shifted, scanning the diner. No one in the other booths, at the pinball machines, not even behind the counter working. In fact, Prompto was the only person in the building at all.

The light was the second thing he noticed, and his eyes creased as the sun cast down intensely bright between the cracks of the shutter blinds.

“Such hard labor those brave women do endure. The saviors of the towns and cities of Lucis, defending humanity from the terror of the Starscourge.”

The voice rang in such a way it invited a fear of death itself. And a sense of great anxiety ran as cold liquid through Prompto’s veins, he shivered as he turned.

“This isn’t real.” Prompto turned to face Ardyn, who sat directly across from him in the booth, both hands out with his palms against the table.

“Was that really all that hard to figure out?” The chancellor mocked, thin lips curling back into a small but toothy grin that raised the hairs on Prompto’s arms. “Obviously this is a dream, my sweet.”

“You can’t do anything to me in a dream, so get out.” Prompto stated firmly, choosing to ignore the gross torment of Ardyn coddling him with a pet name that he seemed to like to use to affirm Prompto as his own position.

“My my, no need to be quite so rude now. I simply thought you could use the company. What with you not having _Noct_ around anymore.”

The reminder hurt, the way Ardyn used his name even more so. Prompto tried not to let it show but he was rendered weak at the mention of Noctis, even after six years. He imagined a part of him always would be. He dipped his head and sighed, gnawing at his lip.

“Why would I want you as company?” Prompto hissed through his teeth, eyes trained to his palms in his lap instead of looking Ardyn in the eye.

“Prompto,” Ardyn toyed with each syllable of the blonde’s name skilfully, “-you surely know this by now. I am the only one who truly understands you. You and I, we have spent such precious time together. Just the two of us.” Prompto hated the insinuations Ardyn’s voice projected. It was a twisted, false relay of the truth. Ardyn liked to use Prompto’s days of captivity against him; make it sound as if he wanted to be there, that he relished the feeling of his limbs strapped up tight and aching, Ardyn often hovering so close to his face Prompto could feel his warm and sickly breath against his skin.

“Shut up, I’m not listening to this now.” Prompto pushed up from the table of the booth, making way to stand and leave. Even for a dream, the exhaustion Prompto felt from his laboured battle resonated, he was tired, angry, and the reminder of Noct’s disappearance and the presence of Ardyn made him want nothing more than to shrink down into nothingness and cease existence all together.

“Now I didn’t say you could leave no could I?” Ardyn’s voice was all too suddenly impatient. Then he was no longer sat in front of Prompto at all, instead he had reappeared at Prompto’s side, one hand planted firmly on the table and the other just above Prompto’s head at the window, trapping him.

 

It was at such an angle that Prompto could see just how much larger the chancellor was against him, he towered above even when seated, causing Prompto to crane his neck uncomfortably to look him in the eye. The position made for a far more intimidating display, and Prompto felt ashamed of himself for having to swallow his nerves physically. Ardyn noticed the bob in Prompto’s throat, of course he did, and he lifted his hand from the table, bringing his fingers up to stroke against the skin of Prompto’s neck. The blond didn’t move, wasn’t sure he could, hell, this was _his_ dream and Ardyn still easily had the upper hand.

Ardyn hummed in content, his eyes half-lidded, fingers continuing to move in delicate strokes, switching between reaching up towards Prompto’s jawline, then back down towards his jutting collarbones. The whole experience ghosted on the precipice between intimate and downright terrifying. Ardyn’s hand was at his neck, he was a much larger and downright stronger man. In an instant the chancellor could latch his hand around Prompto’s throat and squeeze and the blond would be helpless like he always _always_ was.

Prompto half expected Ardyn to start with another vulgar or suggestive comment the next time he opened his mouth, wetting his lips before craning his face down towards Prompto’s ear, so close he could feel Ardyn’s face in his hair. He breathed in- he was _sniffing_ him- inhaling his scent. Prompto jolted with fear and swift enough Ardyn forced his hand roughly against the blonde’s chest, forcing his back against the window.

 

“You really ought to stop playing the hero you know?” Ardyn’s voice was soft and gentle, as if he was cooing a baby to rest. Still it only resonated with Prompto as nothing but sickly and menacing, “Noct is gone, no need try pretend like you’re helping anyone anymore.”

“S-shut up.” Prompto croaked, but the words tasted like chalk in his mouth and his entire body tensed as he fell victim to Ardyn’s words, struggling to defuse them.

“Wouldn’t it be so much easier to let this little charade of yours go? What do you possibly hope to gain?”

“I-I can still help people…” Prompto’s words were a hushed and desperate whisper, and he wasn’t sure if his dispute was against Ardyn or simply a hopeful mantra for himself.

“You continue acting recklessly because you like the rush it gives you when you succeed, little more. You’re selfish, you’re only doing this for yourself. But soon enough you will fail. You already failed to protect the place you insisted on calling your home, your failed to protect the Oracle who put all her faith into you, and you failed to protect your dear Prince Noctis.”

“I-I didn’t…. it wasn’t- it’s not my fault I-“

“Noctis Lucis Caelum was weak. Born of a weak king, surrounded by weak subjects, ‘protected’ by weak friends. You couldn’t save him. You abandoned your true calling and put all your faith into a failure. And now you’re nothing.”

Prompto hadn’t registered he had screwed his eyes shut until Ardyn seemingly finished. Black encapsulated him, and gradually the small sounds of the diner, the fan and the radio, faded away, until all that was left was the heat and smell of Ardyn pressed against him, musty, like damp wood.

“Shut up…” Prompto continued on repeat. Though every time the words passed his lips, they grew fainter and fainter, and it became harder to breathe, though not in the sense that there was a struggle for air. Instead it was if Prompto was softly passing, into sleep or something more permanent, he was not sure which- though he knew what he’d prefer.

 

 

*

 

 

“Yo, hey, wake up already.” The back of a hand against his cheek, not hard, but still unappreciated.

“Leave him be Gladio.” Ignis’ voice could be heard next, and it was then that Prompto- straining- began to make the effort of opening his eyes.

“I’ve cracked ribs countless times, nothing special, the kid’s just being lazy at this point.” Gladio huffed and Prompto- through squinting eyes- saw the man fold his arms in disapproval.

“You know-“ Prompto mused, his dream already forced down deep enough to forget about it, like he had learnt to do every time Ardyn forced himself inside. The blond turned his face into the pillow beneath him, “you really ought to stop calling me ‘kid’. I’m like… on the closer side of thirty.”

“Awake then.” Ignis sighed from the chair at the opposite end in the room. His walking stick propped up between his hands. Accepting his surroundings, Prompto confirmed with himself that somehow after passing out in the back of the truck; he had made it back to Lestallum, and into the reasonable comfort of his bed inside his and Ignis’ apartment.

 

Though apartment was a word he ought to use rather lightly, considering Prompto’s sleeping arrangements was in fact not really a home at all. In fact, Prompto and Ignis’ shared quarters nestled within a storage warehouse of all things. Each storage unit was assigned to two people, and within their own the pair housed a bed cot each, a table on which nothing but Prompto’s out-of-service camera and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, two chairs, and larger workspace on the far back wall of the room for preparing food. As for the matter of showering and reliving one’s self, unless you were fortunate enough to live in a building with an actual bath or shower; public street showers had been fitted for the use of everyone else, as well as restaurant bathrooms being made exclusively public areas and not for anyone to claim as their own.

Gladio had a room in the same storage house, on the second floor. It was a room he shared with his sister Iris, though more often than not the man was alone, his sister often on tour hunting for supplies, her new-found talent and Gladio- as a worried brother and the only family Iris had left- was most definitely cautious of her spry nature.

Lestallum became the center for survivalists almost immediately after the Starscrouge took over. The power plant was the only functioning means of electricity in the entirety of Eos, and being as close as possible to the source itself ensured the best and perhaps only means of survival. Refugees had flooded to the city in a panic, and it still to this day remained the job of the hunters and those willing to face the daemons to find those still left outside. People lived on top of one another in the once sun-trapped city, thankfully enough in relative harmony. The so-called ‘Council of Hunters’ enforced a zero tolerance policy against violence and stealing, _especially_ stealing. It was useful reassurance, though Prompto questioned whether the order was put into place simply to make it seems as if the society that had been adapted had some form of organized structure. Everyone lived on top of one another like factory chickens and were all too wearily to steal, to even raise a hand unless their life truly depended on it.

 

“Why are you here anyways? Figured you’d be out stalking Iris to make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?” Prompto quipped, finally deeming himself awake enough to sit up, a troublesome effort which had him wincing and clutching at his now bare and bandaged torso. “Not- not that I’m not happy to see you though buddy.” Prompto added quickly upon registering Gladio’s lack of amusement.

“Well since you’ve been out cold, Iggy needed someone to read him the incoming reports from the other havens.”

“Regrettably, he doesn’t add the amusing impersonations you do when he’s reading out loud.” Ignis’ flat sarcasm caused a slight curl up in Prompto’s lips. “More importantly, how are you feeling?”

“That Antonia chick made a damn stupid call going down an unmarked road with only three of you.” Gladio interrupted with a displeased grunt, falling down to sit at the edge of Prompto’s cot.

“Tony made the only call she could have; we all would have likely done the same Gladio.” Ignis defended harshly, and Prompto’s eyes snapped just in time to spot the roll of Gladio’s eyes at the use of Antonia’s name.

Ignis proceeded to rise from his chair with his stick in tow, using it to feel his way over towards Prompto, who in turn reached out a hand in support.

“ _Ooo, Tony_!” Prompto sang giddily, swinging Ignis’ arm, “I didn’t realise you two were on such friendly terms.”

“That’s quite enough of that!” Ignis pulled his hand away, a childish redness in his cheeks.

 _‘Oh Noct would love this!’_ Was the thought that instantly flashed through Prompto’s mind, though that in turn only reduced him back into a state of melancholy.

“Anyway,” Ignis made quick work of diverting the conversation away from the subject of his painfully obvious interest in the hunter, “you only broke the one rib, another two appear to merely bruised.” Ignis informed helpfully, hand reaching out to ghost over the bandages over Prompto’s chest. “Painkillers are in the crate under my cot, an elixir too, though please save that if you can.”

“Sure thing,” Prompto smiled honestly, “Thanks Iggy.”

“My pleasure.”

“Actually,” Gladio interjected, rising up from the bed and patting himself down, “he may wanna take that, if he’s coming with me tomorrow.”

“For heaven’s sake, let him have a day to recover at least.”

 

Prompto had grown used to this sort of protective attitude from Ignis over the past couple of years. He suspected truthfully, that the aggressive need to coddle Prompto in a way much fiercer than it ever was before The Darkness swallowed up the world, was born out of a guilt for having seemingly failed in his mission to protect Noctis. Ignis struggled to find meaning for himself after Noctis’ disappearance. Hell, it was difficult enough for Prompto to get out of bed and work without the prince at his side; he could only imagine how painful it was for Ignis. Without his vision, no one dared trust themselves to watch over Ignis’ life outside in the field, or better yet- entrust him with their own.

“Sorry but it can’t exactly wait much longer, the only reason we’ve not already headed out is ‘cause we’re waiting on the forward scouts to confirm us a safe passage, first squad that got send out were never heard back from.” Gladio informed, a hand running through his overgrown hair.

Prompto forced himself to ignore the thoughts of immediate danger that plagued Gladio’s report that this was a mission others had already lost their lives for.

“Where exactly is it that we’re going?” Prompto was still curious after all, if it was a mission Gladio was this passionate about then it was no ordinary supply run.

“Small fishing village just East of Caem, most of the residents chose to stay put until now, they had the fish to eat and trade for medicine, but it sounds like the generator keeping the lights on has packed in for good. They’ll be sitting ducks for the daemons unless we go collect them.”

It startled Prompto, the idea that even after sex years, there were people risking living away from the city and holding on as best they could to their old lifestyle. It was honorable, and though some might consider the actions foolish and counterproductive; Prompto couldn’t help but feel inspired. If they were brave enough to live out on their own all this time, how could he not reach out to help them while he still had breath in his body and feet to stand on. 

“I’ll go.” Prompto replied in an instant, eyes locking onto Gladio and giving him a firm nod of acceptance.

“You will not.” Ignis was quick to interject his concerns one again, and although Prompto was nothing but grateful for everything the advisor had done for him over the years. There were times he wished Ignis would accept he was old enough to make is own decisions.

“If he wants to come along you’ve gotta let him.”

“Prompto, can you even stand?” Ignis ignored Gladio. Prompto could see the worry written upon is face, the way his jaw clenched, and how his hand reached out dully until he found Prompto’s face, holding his cheek.

“I’ll be able to after an elixir.” Prompto breathed quietly, chewing at the insides of his cheeks to stop the sting in his eyes at the level of concerned affection his old friend was giving him.

 _I’m sorry Ignis’_ Prompto thought to himself, pulling his head away before he let the guilt of letting his friend down fester too long.

“Count me in Gladio.”

 

Ignis sighed, defeated, and pulled himself upright before turning his back and heading towards the tiny kitchenette.

“He comes back in a body bag and I’ll never forgive you Gladio.” He let loose drily, picking up a pitcher of clean water and pouring half its content into a pan atop the stove, working to bring it to the boil. “And Prompto…” Ignis breathed shakily, his shoulders hunched low, “have a bloody shave would you?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The air was particularly cool on the city-front without the tall buildings shielding the night’s breeze. Prompto practically choked as Ignis tied the scarf he had removed from his own neck and placed around the blonde’s own a little _too_ tight.

“You know no one is forcing you to go?” Ignis pressed one last time, having spent the majority of the time after Gladio had left the two alone to their supper, up until they woke and made their way down to the gas station at the edge of the city where the jeeps waited to take Prompto and the six others embarking on the mission away.

“I do know that-” Prompto started, a small, sad smile on his lips, “but I want to go. It’s the right thing to do.” He swatted Ignis’ hands away from him, loosening the scarf.

“Jeez, you’re like a mother sending her kid of on his first day of school.” Gladio rolled his eyes, hitting Prompto’s shoulder indicating it was time they make a move.

“And you too Gladio-“ The Shield froze as Ignis spoke his name, eyes lowering down slowly as Ignis closed the gap between then and stepped in close, “you be careful too you hear me? Don’t think my worry for one of you outweighs the other.”

Prompto immediately felt as if he were intruding on a private conversation the moment Ignis reached out, finding and straightening the lapels of Gladio’s jacket, hands lingering at his chest perhaps a moment longer then necessary.

“Got it.” Gladio swallowed, looking away.

“Good luck both of you, until you return.” Gladio was already making his way to one of the jeeps as Ignis finished, and Prompto patted his friend kindly on the shoulder before following suit.

Bidding Ignis farewell on such occasions never failed to rest uncomfortably inside of Prompto. It felt wrong to leave one of them behind, even more so after Noct’s disappearance. It was as if the strings that tied the three men together were unravelling, and more and more so with every passing year they were drifting apart without Noctis to hold them together with a common goal.

Prompto found himself turning back solemnly again, to catch one last glimpse of the advisor before he left. However, he was surprised to see the man already in deep conversation with Antonia of all people. The woman readjusted the strap of the shotgun at her shoulder, before squeezing at Ignis’ arm and making her way over towards Prompto in a half-run.

“Woah wait, don’t tell me Ignis talked you into tagging along just to watch my back?” Prompto catechized, sliding his way into the same jeep as Gladio, Antonia quickly following beside him.

“As if I care that much.” The hunter snorted, pulling the gun at her shoulder down so she could sit comfortably. “That being said, I do kind of owe it to ya. You really saved my ass last time. I would have never made it back without you.”

Prompto found himself speechless for the better half of a minute, lost in accepting the fact that he was actually being thanked for doing a good job. Perhaps his latest dream with Ardyn had taken its toll after all. It felt good to hear the praise, and affirmed even more clearly with the young man that he was making the right decision in coming along.

“T-thanks.” Prompto stuttered awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “Still, did Iggy tell you I was coming?”

“We bumped into each other at the shower blocks earlier. He did seem concerned about you leaving so soon after your injury. Regardless, it sounded like you guys need all the help you can get on this one.”

Prompto simply nodded in response as their jeep pulled out into the road, following closely behind the one in front. He thought it best to close his eyes for now, regardless of whether or not sleep would come of it, his ribs were still sore after all, and he needed to savor all the energy he could for the inevitable fight ahead.

 

 

*

 

 

“Oh man, it’s hot!” Prompto fanned himself from his spot sat down on the decking of the fishing platform, shoes discarded and toes dangling into the cold water of the Malacchi Pond.

It had been a relatively quiet day compared to most, save a couple of hunts they’d seen advertised that morning when they pulled up for gas. That was not to say the matter of urgency had been lost on the Prince and his Crownsguard; rather that Ignis was still in the midst of securing the exact location of a dungeon they knew to be nearby, hoping inside might lay a royal weapon to add to Noct’s armiger. Prompto couldn’t at all complain at the matter, instead relishing in the group’s opportunity for a much-needed unwind and restful night or two.

“Don’t shift your feet around so much, you’ll scare off the fish.” Noctis complained, pouting slightly at the lack of progress his current tackle was making.

They two young men had found themselves alone at the fishing spot; a short distance down slope in a clearing not too far from where they had set up camp. Ignis and Gladio decided to hold back by the tent and examine the map in inspection of the dungeon whilst lunch was being prepared.

Prompto laughed as Noctis’ frustration grew, settling instead for reeling the line in completely and swapping out for a different tackle.

“I dunno, maybe they’ll come close thinking my toes are their dinner.” Prompto joked, flicking his foot up in a swift motion causing the water to propel up at Noctis, who in turn failed in deflecting the attack.

“Yeah right, they’d drop dead with fright once they catch a look at how freakishly long they are.” Noctis playfully kicked Prompto with the side of his foot before returning his attention back towards the rod.

 

Usually Prompto was not one to find much comfort in silence. However, he found when he was alone in the company of his best friend, words were not always necessary. The mere presence of the young man at his side was more than enough to put Prompto at ease. The blond let his eyes close in contentment and he leaned back onto his forearms, humming softly as he indulged himself in the afternoon sun. He appreciated the gentle sounds around him: the slight rustle of the breeze against foliage, the chirp of a small insect, the occasional disturbance against the water from Noct’s line, Noct’s slow and rhythmic breathing.

“I thought you’d be wanting to take pictures or something, you usually do when I’m fishing.”

Prompto opened one eye and tilted his head to the side at the statement.

“Figured you were getting tired of me taking shots of your back all the time.” Prompto shrugged easily, turning his head back towards the lake.

“I never get tired of your pictures…” Noctis started again after a minute of two, quieter then before.

Prompto opened both of his eyes this time, sitting up slightly and his lips parting with a wonder for Noct’s unusual sentimentality. Prompto didn’t know what to say, _‘thank you’_? No, that seemed all too formal. Nevertheless, it made the blond inexplicably happy to hear his best friend say such a thing, and he cast his head down quickly to try mask the smile toying at his lips and pink rising in his cheeks.

“You want a go?” Noctis broke the silence again, and wow, Prompto was even more surprised that his friend would let him near his beloved fishing rod.

“Dude, you know I’m terrible at fishing.” Prompto snorted, shaking his head and pulling his feet from out the water, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“Not with _‘Noctis King of Fishing’_ here to teach you.” Prompto laughed again at that, pulling himself up to stand.

“Fine then, _oh teacher of mine_ -“ He joked, bringing one hand to his chest and the other behind his back before giving Noctis a mock bow, “please enlighten me in your ways so that I may too, become a fishing master.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Noctis grinned, twisting his body and ushering Prompto over to stand in front of him at the edge of the wooden jetty. “Alright you take this,” He handed Prompto the rod, though before the blond even made himself comfortable with it in his hands, he felt Noct’s own ghost around him, one cupping hold of Prompto at his wrist, “You need to relax this hand a little.”

Prompto was silently thankful it had been his mark-free hand Noct had grasped hold of, though that thought came second to the intense bundle of- not nerves- suspense, in his chest. At least that was the best way Prompto found he could describe it at the time.

“Um-“ He struggled, instinct causing him to take the smallest of steps back, though that move only resulted in an understanding of just how close Noctis was, and Prompto bumped back against the Prince’s chest, “like this?” Prompto swallowed, trying desperately to relax his hand, praying to the Six that Noct couldn’t feel him shaking when he moved his other hand round to rest at Prompto’s forearm.

“Yeah, now once you get a bite you’re gonna need to set the hook, like this.” Noctis made a flicking motion with Prompto’s wrist, the pole rising up quickly as a result.

“And that’s when I start reeling?” Prompto braved a look back, twisting his neck at an angle that his cheek was practically resting against Noctis’ shoulder.

“Y-yeah.” Noct stammered, though he was no longer looking at the lake at all, instead his eyes had dropped down towards where his hand rested on top of Prompto’s. “The- um, the fish should swing towards you when you lift up, and then… that’s when you can draw him in.”

Prompto noticed his friend’s struggle to find his words, much like he noticed each and every way their bodies touched, how he could feel the heat of Noctis’ chest against his back, and breath at his cheek.

“Him?” Prompto jested, trying to defuse the nervous tension, “Wow Noct, what about all those sweet lady fishes out there?”

The joke appeared to only heighten Noct’s flustering, and the Prince mouth opened and closed repeatedly, nothing but a mixture of ‘I’s, um’s, and nervous laughter managing to break through. 

“You two!”

Gladio’s voice ruptured through the clearing like tropical thunder, and Prompto sensed if he fallen forward any further with shock then we could have been paying a face-first visit with the fishing lake.

“Lunch is ready, get your asses back to camp!” The man finished, quick to turn back and head away without waiting.

Noctis’ hands hesitated where they touched Prompto for only a moment before he pulled away, coughing into the back of his hand lightly and skimming his feet awkwardly against the wood.

“I guess we should make our way back, right, _boyo_ -“ Prompto fired two finger guns at Noct as walked backwards up the jetty. Noctis nodded quickly, eyes darting practically everywhere that wasn’t in Prompto’s general direction, “okay- well- yeah…” the blond flailed in embarrassment because _‘boyo’_ , really? And he turned away completely, rushing his way back in the direction of the camp.

 

 

 *

 

 

Prompto laughed softly at the memory. It wasn’t exactly a simpler time, but remembrance of how terrible the two young men had been at communicating their feelings for such a long time did bring a smile to Prompto’s face, even now. He supposed it’d be make more sense to consider the lack of time the two spent having been honest with how they truly felt to be somewhat of a tragic waste. But Prompto couldn’t consider it as such. The childish jitters that such moments of words left unsaid used to give him were irreplaceable, and Prompto found he couldn’t regret a single one, not even for a second.

The remembrance of their time out on the fishing pond had sprung to mind as Prompto found himself stood on a similar wooden jetty, though this time staring out to small cove of ocean instead of a lake. The water was black and still, tarnished heavily with litter and abandoned boats. The scene was ghastly, and reminded Prompto of those terrible old black and white horror movies he and dad would rent from the store, much to his mom’s disapproval. In its prime, the fishing village must have been home to little more than a hundred residents, though Prompto was unsure how many of those had decided to flee from the Starscourge instead of staying put, or worse yet, how many had died. Evidence of a once thriving business village had all but disintegrated entirely, rendering the village nothing but a ghost town, a lifeless shell of what it once was.

Regardless of the fate of the rest of the village, it had been only a small number of residents who had sent out the distressed call. By the time Prompto, Gladio, and the rest of the hunters had made it over a good forty-eight hours later; they had found left only a family of five and two middle aged men who had managed to fortify themselves within the basement of the Village Hall until help had arrived. The hunters succeeded in taking out all the daemons- mostly Hecteyes and Hobgoblins, an odd couple of trickier Ronin’s in the mix too- with minimal casualties. Now it was a case of tending to the wounded, seeing to the new refugees, and salvaging what they could from the buildings still standing to take back to Lestallum.

 

“Prompto,” He turned at the sound of Gladio’s voice. The older man still had his greatsword in hand, resting it over his shoulder. He didn’t appear as weary as most from the battle, though that wasn’t all too surprising, “we’re heading back soon, you finished over here?”

“Just that boat house over there left.” Prompto nodded over to the withered wooden building a little further down the boardwalk.

“You need a hand?”

“Nah, I’ll give you a shout if there’s anything big to carry.” Prompto patted at his thighs and headed off in the direction of the shed.

Perhaps Prompto’s head was still a little away with the clouds as he made the decision to go alone; though it was not as if he has much to worry about, no one was too far away, and the area was secured. He hummed and old, half-forgotten tune as he pushed open the grand, sliding door of the building, which had luckily been left unlocked. As suspected, the inside looked virtually desolate, spare some boxes of nets and tackles, and a couple of large cranes to lift boats on and off the water. He doubted they’d be of much use back in the city, and it wasn’t as if the hunters had the means of taking such massive equipment back anyhow. So Prompto continued on, making is way up to a single-file staircase that lead to a second floor balcony. He placed a foot down, and frowned a little as the first step whined and creaked under his weight. After deeming it safe for someone of his size, Prompto made his way up slowly, hands elevated at his sides ready to summon his weapon if needed be. The second level seemed to be similarly barren, and was made up mostly of workshop tables; one of which he found a box with a couple of tins of coffee beans which he excitedly shoved into each of his coat pockets.

It was as Prompto had turned back round on the balls of his feet that he picked up the first strained, hiccup of a whimper. After snapping his head back did he hear it again. The table furthest to the back wall, Prompto sourced the noise quickly enough. There was an old beaten and dusty white sheet over the table, reaching down to the floor at one side. As steadily as he could Prompto moved one foot ahead of the other, hesitating when he had reached the table’s edge until he heard the whimper again. He crouched down low, gripping the fabric in his hand and pulling it up.

The child cried out louder now, hurriedly ducking her head into her knees which she’d pulled up to her chest.

“Hey-“ Prompto started quickly, though the urgency in his voice did little but frighten the girl further and she squealed again.

She couldn’t have been older than nine, Prompto had guessed, and her long brown hair and pale skin way matted with dirt and blood, none of it however appeared to be her own.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Prompto tired again, softer this time, “I’m one of the good guys.”

The girl hesitated a moment, though chose not to lift her head.

“You gonna let me get you out of there? It can’t be all that nice in the dark here by yourself.” The girl sniffed, rubbed at her eyes with one hand and squeezed her arms tighter around her knees. “I can take you somewhere with lots of lights. You’ll be safe there. I promise.”

 _Safer_ , at least. Though Prompto knew better then to phrase in in such a way to one of such an innocent mind. The mention of light seemed to ignite something inside the girl however, who finally made effort to lift her head, her watery gaze meeting Prompto’s own.

“You have lights?” The girl’s eyes soon caught hold of the small torch clipped to Prompto’s jacket and sat transfixed as if the tiny light itself were a beckon of hope.

“Yeah, lots of them!” Prompto offered the best smile he could, and reached to unclip the torch from his jacket. “You can hold on to this one if you like? Until we get there?”

The girl paused, and then she moved onto her hands and knees, but stopped again and reached out her hand. Prompto passed her over the torch and with that she was content enough to continue out from underneath the table.

On her feet Prompto deemed her too frail and exhausted to walk with ease. God knows how long she had been hidden under there, what she had seen. The thought sent an uncomfortable tingle down Prompto’s arms all the way to his fingertips. He gave them a wiggle to escape the feeling, reaching down to scoop the girl up into his arms; one hand supporting under her legs which dangled down either side of Prompto, the other hand resting at the top of her back.

“This okay?” He whispered softly, propping her up once. The girl nodded tiredly in response, her head lolling down until her chin rested at Prompto’s shoulder.

 

It was as the two of them had made it down to the bottom of the staircase that Prompto heard his name called in the lessening distance. Antonia appeared through the door, shotgun clutched in both hands. She took two steps forward before her eyes widened in response to the child in Prompto’s arms.

“Oh gods, is she alright?” Antonia voice was flushed with worry.

“She’s okay I think,” Prompto was quick to defuse, his hand at the girl’s back moving up to cup the back of her head, “just shaken up.”

“Praise the Six.” The hunter shook her head in slight disbelieve, pulling the strap attached to her shot gun and hooking it over her shoulder, “Well anyway I was sent to check up on you. We’re all set to depa-“

The blade pierced through the back of Antonia’s head as fast as a match sparking a flame.

Only once the weapon had been pulled back did deep red clots of blood appear, spitting out in two thick bursts from Antonia’s right eye. Then she was on the ground.

Prompto’s jaw was fixed open, a silent screech stuck at the back of his throat. The Yojimbo’s katana fell to his side, and sudden as it did, the shots of golden gil bullets came flying. They were too fast. Prompto flung his body around in a helpless attempt to flee the impact. It was already too late, the child in his arms shrieked and fell limp in his chest before the last dozen shots hit Prompto at the forearm, piercing through the jacket and shedding at the flesh. Without hesitating for another second, Prompto’s movement turned into a complete 360˚ spin, and with that motion he summoned his pistol, firing four consecutive shots into the Yojimbo’s chest until it squawked, sank to its knees, and disintegrated into a cloud of purple dust.

He fell to the floor after that, the arm not maimed being the only thing stopping Prompto from collapsing against the girl beneath him. Her tiny frame couldn’t handle the daemon’s impact, she hadn’t the muscle to take the brunt of the blow. The child laid lifeless on the dirt floor, eyes wide and her past tears still wet on her cheeks. Prompto screamed next. Loud and harsh enough it was destructive to his own throat. He screamed again and threw himself backwards, falling painfully onto one hip.  His eyes darted up to where the daemon had been at the shed door, then down to Antonia’s body face-first into the dirt, the down again to the smaller body at his feet.

Prompto thought he could have thrown up then, or piss himself, or even faint on the spot but all he could so was scream like a new-born baby; hyper and overwhelmed. Somewhere between his cries his hands had ended up in his hair, the bones in his fingers locked and stuck there, his blunt nails against his scalp. He couldn’t even think about tending to the blood dripping from the gashes in his own arm, he couldn’t think of doing anything but crying and shaking and wishing he were dead too if it meant he didn’t have to see the bodies below him.

 

When Gladio found his way at Prompto’s side, the blond could hardly make out his friend’s features through the tears flooding from his eyes. Even Gladio’s arm wrapping around his frame and rocking with him felt like nothing against the violent shake of his own body. A sense of time evaded him, but Prompto recognized that once the noises he was making melted from screams into more of a blubbering sob, Gladio had managed to pull him up onto his feet. His legs wobbled but Gladio moved quickly and Prompto was forced to follow. The older man ushered the two of them away from the scene, the words Gladio spoke to the hunters they passed fell deaf at Prompto’s ears, hearing nothing but a low and static buzz and his own labored breathing.

Then somehow he was in the back of one of the jeeps, Gladio packed in close to him, forcing Prompto against the door of the vehicle.

“Listen-” The jabbing pain from the door handle against Prompto’s spine created the personal awareness needed for the buzzing noise to cease and Gladio’s voice to be heard.

“Let’s get out of here before any more of those things show up.” Prompto’s head snapped up towards the unfamiliar voice. Two hunters crammed into the front seats, the driver quick to turn on the ignition jut the jeep forward.

“Look at me.” Gladio tried again and Prompto obliged, head turning back, fresh tears sliding down his sore face. The smaller man lifted the back of his hand up in a careless effort to wipe the line of saliva he could feel on his chin from having practically screamed his literal guts out. He winced at the movement however, and then his eyes left Gladio’s face and down towards his arm. The leather of his jacket shone red with the blood that stained it and with a curse Gladio rummaged the bag at his feet for a potion, cracking it open at Prompto’s arm, then searching again for a bandage and began sloppily wrapping up the wound in an attempt to stop any further bleeding.

“This was not your fault; you hear me?” Gladio barked, harshly enough that it made Prompto jump before he set into his rhythm of shaking again. “Prompto are you hearing me?”

Prompto thinks he nodded. He must have done because Gladio stopped pestering him after that. In fact, his friend said nothing the entire ride home. He made no attempt to move Prompto from his spot in the jeep or even usher him to eat something when they stopped to make camp. So Prompto just sat there, staring not out the window but instead the black plastic frame at the base of it. The side of his head and shoulder grew sore from remaining fixed in the same position against the door for such a long period of time, still he found he had no effort to move.

 

 

*

 

 

“What a pity, she was quickly becoming my favorite character!” Ardyn tutted from across the table of the diner booth, picking away at the grime under his fingernails.

Prompto had no smart remarks for the chancellor this time. He couldn’t muster up neither the courage or the energy to say anything for that matter.

It felt hotter in the diner this time round, as if the sun had somehow moved closer, the brightness of the room would surely make it seem so. The corners of every object and piece of furniture within the restaurant was cornered in a white haze that made Prompto’s head ache.

“Now you’re no fun if you’re just going to stay all quiet like that.”

The radio wasn’t playing this time. Nor was the fan spinning or the receipts rattling. The suspension of reality seemed to lack the perfection it did the first time Prompto found himself sat down within the same spot in his dream.

Perhaps he wasn’t in as deep a sleep, maybe that was why.

“Oh, what will poor Ignis say when he hears his lover bird is no more?” Ardyn mock gasped. Prompto continued to squint out at the sun through the cracks in the window shutters instead of humoring a response. “No matter, it’s not as if he will see that she’s missing anyhow.”

It was a low blow, desperate almost, but still it grabbed Prompto’s attention. He turned his head around to face Ardyn, and Prompto noticed he was the only thing within the room that didn’t appear to emit the same white shine.

“And he’s back with us.” Ardyn applauded, nestling his head into the cradle of his hands as he propped his elbows up onto the tabletop. “So, anything to say?”

“Nothing to you.” Prompto grunted plainly, not attempting at all to make a move to leave, the threat of suffering the same result as last time if he dared.

“I warned you this would happen, didn’t I?” Ardyn began to explain himself more bluntly when Prompto offered nothing but a puzzled frown in response, “I told you that you’d soon fail if you continued to act so recklessly.”

“I’ve not failed. I’m still alive aren’t I?” Prompto winced at how weak his voice sounded, still raw and damaged in his dream from all his screaming outside of it.

“Oh my, how tyrannical of you!” Ardyn snapped back to sit upright, “And tell me dear, just how many bodies are you planning on littering behind you on your trail towards- well- whatever it is you are hoping to achieve here.” Prompto hissed when Ardyn’s words fell into a small bubbling laughter.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Prompto repeated Gladio’s words, and Ardyn somehow possessed the knowledge to make the connection.

“As if that beast knows what he’s talking about. He’s just saying that to give himself reason not to strike you on the spot for the mess you’ve caused.”

“You’re wrong!” Prompto yelped, the insinuation that Gladio truly hated him for what had happened terrifying him.

Ardyn ignored Prompto’s defense and pressed on, pushing himself up from the booth and standing, beginning to walk in a small circle.

“You cause a scene and bring the threat of death to every Lucian life you come across because that is what you are programed to do.”

“I do not serve Niflheim.” Prompto clenched his fists.

He would not be tormented with talk of his origins again. He had learnt how to cope with it; managed to live with himself and what he truly was because Noctis had told him what none of that truly mattered.

Prompto’s back hunched and he breathed in through gritted teeth. _‘Don’t let it get to you, not now’_ , he told himself, the memory of Noct’s unfinished promise heavy on his chest.

As king Noctis would bring the nations together, solidify a unity and treat everyone as equal, for Prompto, so he and everyone else wouldn’t never have to feel as though they didn’t belong anymore.

 _“Ever at your side.”_ Prompto had told him. It was all he ever wanted, to be near to Noctis, to serve him, to hold him, to- to-

“Did you learn nothing from your time at the Magitek production facility?” Ardyn’s words cut through Prompto’s trailing thoughts, “Really, Prompto, I thought you were better than this. The barcode at your wrist may say you are in the service of The Empire, but that is not where your true loyalties lie. You don’t belong to Prince Noctis, you don’t belong to Niflheim or even to your creator Verstael, you belong- to _me_.” Ardyn stopped his pacing, looking down at Prompto, lips curled up more wicked then the blond had perhaps ever seen.

“You’re insane…” Prompto swallowed, head shaking.

“I planted the ideas for the Magitek army into Vestael’s head,” Ardyn slammed a hand down against the table, “I’m the reason you were brought into this world.” He leaned in close, grasping Prompto’ chin roughly, thumb rubbing slow circles into the skin.

“Finally,” When Ardyn sighed it was almost lustful, only angering Prompto further, “I can get my use out of you, my dear.”

“I would never serve you!” Prompto hissed, shaking himself free of Ardyn’s grip and standing up to meet his level as best he could.

“Then you can continue watch everything you love burn!” Prompto wasn’t used to hearing Ardyn’s voice so sonorous in volume, he was actually shouting, face reddening with a frustrated rage, “Watch as I eradicate every last person who chooses to bow down to false kings, who thinks they can destroy The Darkness itself!”

“Get out of my head!” Prompto’s body moved without thinking, arm blindly taking a swing at Ardyn’s chest. The Chancellor stepped back to avoid the blow, continuing in his vibrant torment.

“You will learn soon enough Prompto, that your life is not yours to live. No decision you make will truly be for yourself. Try as you may, you will _never_ be able to make yourself useful to anyone but me!”

“I said get out!” Prompto swung again, and his hand fell through Ardyn’s body as if it were not there at all. And then it wasn’t. Prompto snapped his body upright from the swing and the Chancellor was nowhere to be seen; leaving Prompto alone in the diner as the light continued to grow, brighter and brighter until everything- including himself- was all engulfed in white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so things got pretty dark quick. But, it's a cruel world I guess, not that accepting that makes it any easier to write Prompto so broken :( 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you, and stay tuned for updates really soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter then the last two, though that is only because the next is rather large- and I'm super excited for it! But regardless, I hope you enjoy chapter 3!

Prompto had learnt about pathetic fallacy back in his freshman in high school. Or rather, Noctis had leant Prompto his half-assed attempt at notes on the subject when Prompto had been plagued with laryngitis and rendered bed-ridden for the better half of a week. Prompto’s memory was hazy, he’d sure has hell been through the ringer twice over since back in the day. He did however, recall accusing his friend of screwing with him by giving him a set of fake notes, because who on earth called something ‘pathetic fallacy’ and meant it seriously?

But it made sense now. There was a downpour when the hunters arrived back at the Coernix station at the edge of the city. The clouds were sullen; the rain stained all it touched like fresh tears against fleecy cheeks. The weather was sad. Prompto was ‘sad’. Prompto was _pathetic_. So on, so forth.

 Sometime after waking- with about two and a half hours of road left to go- Prompto had managed to regain some sort of mental stability, enough so that he could begin to plan within his head what in the gods names he was supposed to tell Ignis when he got back. He knew he had to say something. Ignis would ask what happened, Ignis would ask where Antonia was, Ignis would ask why.

Prompto didn’t know why. He knew _how_ , sure, though that thought only made him retch.

 

“What are you gonna do with that?” Prompto studied one of the older hunters nudging the man next to him as they climbed out their jeep.

“Hand it in with all the others I guess. Though it's a pretty good model, I might hold on to it myself.” Prompto found himself moving without really thinking, charging forward towards the two hunters and clenching his fists tight.

It was Anotonia’s gun. Prompto knew it was her gun because he recognised the signature purple strap that she used to hook it on to her shoulder.

 

Prompto recalled one night when the two of them had made camp at a haven close to the Malmalam Thicket after a particularly lengthy supply run; Antonia had begun to first open up about her life before The Darkness.

Her entire family had been raised as hunters at the Meldacio Headquarters close to the Vesterpool; her, her mother, her grandfather, and her younger sister. Antonia had been away on a deep expedition in the Kettier Highlands when the Starscourge engulfed the sky. It was weeks before she managed to get home, held up battling hordes of daemons and fighting for survival amidst the initial frantic panic. Though when she finally made it back all she found was decay, and entire village had been deserted.

Antonia told Prompto she didn’t think they’d made it out alive, and if they had they couldn’t have gotten far before they were killed. Her lack of an ability to hope they might have survived had scared Prompto; he couldn’t understand how she managed to stand up and fight without clear certainty of her family’s fate. Perhaps telling herself that they were dead was simply easier, she didn’t have to spend her life sitting around and waiting. Prompto wasn’t sure he was quite capable of mastering such a feat. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

 _“Purple was Darla’s favorite colour. She said it gave her hope, that it just felt like a spiritual colour or something. Said it made her feel at ease.”_ Antonia had whispered, prodding at their campfire with a stick, allowing the flames more room to breathe. _“Now when I see that colour it’s always because there is some fuckin’ daemon about.”_ She threw the stick into the fire in a tantrum, letting her head fall into her hands wearily.

 _“Well maybe,”_ Prompto spoke around the mug of hot water in his hands, _“you could try see it the way she did.”_ Antonia pealed her hands away from her face to listen.

_“You said purple made your sister feel hope, right? Maybe if you see it like that, it’ll give you a clear head, help you to fight.”_

The hunter sat quietly in contemplation for a while, saying nothing but chewing the insides of her cheeks until she finally nodded.

 _“Yeah…”_ Her voice was soft and unsure, but her gaze fell down towards her shotgun beside her, and her fingers reached out to touch at the fabric of the purple strap, _“yeah maybe.”_

Prompto continued on his stampede forward, opening his mouth when he got close enough the grab the hunter’s attention.

“Hey!” He barked roughly, “That’s not yours to do with what you like, you hear?”

The hunter anticipated Prompto’s actions as the blond reached out to grab for the shotgun, and he easily stepped out of the way.

“What right have you got to take what was hers, asshole?!” Prompto yelled again, and in a chaotic rage he brought his tightened fist up and made a swing for the hunter.

“That’s enough!” Gladio seized at Prompto’s arm, pulling it down roughly.

“Like hell it is!” Prompto tried again, but by this point Gladio had him by the waist, struggling to stop Prompto from shaking himself free.

“Leave it!” Gladio hissed, throwing Prompto down against the road. The Shield froze in an instant, when he looked down upon Prompto, who winced and clutched at his still tender ribcage. Tears welled in the young man’s eyes and it all began to flood back again. The fishing village, the little girl, the daemon, the way it’s blade pierced through the back of Antonia’s head, the two corpses at Prompto’s feet.

Prompto choked on a sob, and his hand shot up to his mouth to try cover it.

“Shit.” Gladio cursed under his breathe, reaching out and pulling Prompto up by his good forearm, not letting go as he began to drag his friend away from the scene, and this time Prompto made no attempt to pry himself free.

 

Prompto struggled to gather his thoughts as he allowed Gladio to pull him down a side alley, marching through the winding streets of the city with a familiar ease. Prompto recognised the streets from before The Darkness had taken over, where some of the spice stalls used to stand, offering dazzlingly hot flavors unlike anything Prompto had ever tasted before. He recognised where a small three-piece band of steel drummers used to play for cash on one of the street corners, and what used to be a family-owned jewelers, now boarded up and likely made living quarters for far-too many to be comfortable.

Then there was The Laville. Prompto made it one of the missions of his life to avoid walking past this building at all costs. It was perhaps one of the worst reminders of Noctis left standing, and it was one Prompto had to live with practically on his doorstep.

The rooms of The Laville were a godsend away from the heat of Cleigne back in the day. Prompto relished in visits to the city for many reasons, and the feeling of the crisp air conditioning that kissed his face when he entered his hotel room was definitely a close second.  His favorite past time however, was a pleasure so private, so intimate, that he never once voiced it out loud. Despite the hotel’s size, its rooms were modest, ever more troublesome however was the fact they were often almost fully booked. This meant that upon visits, the four men would have to stockpile into a double room, with one bathroom, a kitchenette, and two double beds (inevitable brawl over the one spare pillow rapidly ensuing).

It would happen at night, when everyone had retired to bed after a long day of hunting and fighting and driving and doing gods knows what else. Prompto would curl into his pillow and wait for sleep to come, hearing nothing but the muffled sounds of the city below and his friends slow breathes. At first Prompto simply thought the habit was nothing more than the results of a restless sleeper. But Noct wasn’t a restless sleeper, in fact he was the exact opposite of sorts. Perhaps Noctis’ biggest childish snag was that he couldn’t quite shake off was how deeply in love he was with the idea of sleep (that and his ever-picky eating habits).

A foot against Prompto’s leg. That’s all it was. Every time they shared a bed without fail, Noctis would wait long enough until he thought Prompto was asleep and then he would stretch his foot out under the covers until he found his friend and just rested it there.

Prompto decided after a while that for him to notice such an occurrence wasn’t because he was a light sleeper himself, rather that he found he couldn’t really sleep peacefully at all until he felt Noct’s touch either.

Prompto didn’t want to question Noct’s methods for a long time. For what if the Prince truly was asleep, what if he had no idea what Prompto was talking about? Or worse yet, what if Prompto told him he knew and then Noctis _stopped_. Prompto didn’t want Noctis to stop, Prompto had never wanted to know what it would be like to lie awake without feeling Noctis’ touch. The reality was just as empty as Prompto had imagined.

One night he let the question slip as he lied down, back to his friend, one arm under his pillow, hugging it close. Noctis’ foot reached out and graced against Prompto’s bare calf and the blond felt his heart clench tight.

“Why do you do that?” Prompto said delicately, filled of uncertainty.

Noctis stayed quiet for a long time; so long in fact Prompto began to think he may not have heard him. He decided to retreat, pretend he hadn’t said anything in the first place because damn it was stupid and he was overthinking things again and maybe Noctis didn’t want to talk about it because why would he and-

“I-“ Prompto daren’t move a muscle, all his attention rushing away from the feeling of contact against his skin and honing in on Noct’s faint and half-asleep voice. “I like knowing you’re there.”

It was Prompto’s turn to be quiet this time. He was in a daze, an ethereal high over nothing more than five simple words. He let out a shaking breath and nodded to himself, too caught up in the moment to remember Noctis’ couldn’t actually see his response.

“I can stop… if you want. Sorry-“

“No!” Prompto screwed his eyes shut for a second, cringing at the volume of his own words. He paused a moment longer, making sure neither Gladio or Ignis awoke from the disturbance. “I mean,” Prompto tried again, and he turned over, “if you want…”

Prompto scooted his body in closer, until his chest reached Noctis’ back. The Prince didn’t say anything, but Prompto understood the way his body didn’t tense up at the contact as a reassuring sign. He nudged a leg up against Noctis’, who in turn drew his back until they intertwined with one another.

“T-this… is this any good?” Prompto’s voice was shaking as he finished, lifting his arm up over this friend’s waist, resting his hand up at Noctis’ chest.

“That’s uh-“ Noct fumbled, and Prompto could feel the other's hand screwing into the bedsheets before he released, tentatively bringing it up on top of Prompto’s own, finger’s slipping in between the gaps. “This is better.”

Prompto should have easily after that; with the heat of Noctis’ body curled into him, the natural scent of his shower-damp hair inviting with it a sense of wholesome security unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was an invitation for comfort, but with such comfort came a confusion. Prompto didn't know what they were doing, or even how long it would last. There were political marriages to bind, and a war to settle. Prompto had been cursed with a expectation for Noctis to make the first move for so long, but slowly that had begun to change. Prompto was incapable of controlling himself for much longer; and the anticipation for more should have been exciting. But instead all it did was give Prompto more reason to be frightened of it falling apart.

 

 

*

 

 

“I’m sorry for shoving you down like that.” Gladio grumbled briskly, finally letting go of Prompto’s arm as they turned into the street of the storage facility.

Prompto didn’t answer, didn’t dare look up at the pasty white building ahead where he knew Ignis was waiting for him. Gladio sighed with unease and took another few steps forward, but Prompto stayed still.

“What is it?” Gladio asked so plainly that the grimace Prompto made in retaliation made his jaw ache.

“I-I can’t look at him. I can’t tell him.” Prompto croaked. His tears back on the city front had only lasted a moment, and Prompto had wondered if he’d finally reached a point where he had cried himself dry. 

“Man, he’s not going to blame you-“

“How do you know that?” Prompto cut Gladio off, screwing his fists tight again, drilling holes into a patch of ground with his eyes. “You think he’d tell me if he did? Nonono he’s gonna sit there calmly and tell me that it is _fine,_ that everything is going to be _fine_ but it isn’t! None of this is!”

“You need to take a breather.” Gladio lifted Prompto’s chin with the curve of his finger, moving it over to Prompto’s shoulder once the blond looked him in the eyes.

“Gladio? Prompto? Is that you?” Prompto seized up in an instant, not daring to turn around.

“Yeah it’s us.” Gladio’s eyes didn’t leave Prompto’s, who’s own were frantic and pleading. Gladio mouthed an apology before licking his lips and continuing awkwardly, “Listen- Iggy… Prompto, he’s had a little bit of a snag on his arm.”

The look Prompto offered the Shield was nothing short of disgust, and he failed miserably in his attempts to stop his body shaking.

“What, how? Prompto come here!” Ignis hurried forward, reaching a hand out.

“I- um- I-“ Prompto stumbled back, falling into Gladio’s chest.

“What happened? Does he need a doctor?”

“No… no I didn’t mean to- I can’t, I couldn’t-“ He struggled again, air trapping in his lungs, beginning to hyperventilate.

“Prompto?”

Prompto couldn’t breathe, could hardly see. Ignis was going to find out. Ignis was going to _hate_ him and it was all Prompto’s fault, Prompto had been carless, Prompto had gotten Antonia killed-

“I- I can’t, I-“ Prompto fell against the wall of the building beside him, he pushed up and wandered, only proceeding to collapse against the wall at the opposite side. He was dizzy, it felt like he was falling somehow. His legs lost control, shaking wildly under his weight.

“Prompto are you alright?” Ignis' words were beginning to slur inside Prompto’s head, “Gladio he’s burning up,” he couldn’t even see his friends anymore, or feel their grip on his body, Ignis’ hand touching at his face. “Prompto- Prompto!” 

Then the streetlights around him began to fade, was the power going out? Prompto couldn’t breathe, let alone ask. But it wasn’t the power, it was Prompto himself, eyes falling shut and legs turning limp before he’s body slammed down against the pavement.

 

 

*

 

 

Prompto awoke with a jolt upwards that buried deep into the dull wound of his ribcage.

“Ah, damn it…” He winced, reaching the clutch where it pained him, only to fall victim to a second sharp jab in his forearm. Prompto cussed, back drooping forward with exhaustion already after only the smallest of movements.

It took a while but he managed to steady his breathing and take in his surroundings. The over-head light which usually illuminated the storage room he begrudgingly called his home had been flicked off, and all the candles that dotted around the room were snuffed out, rendering the room pitch black; save a single electric lamp on the round table at the head of Ignis’ bed. Prompto eyes shifted down from the light source to find Ignis laying down in his own cot, back facing Prompto. The thin cover of his blanket was only pulled as high as his waist, and Prompto could see the through the material of Ignis’ white night shirt, the smallest rise and fall of his body with every sleeping breath he took.

Prompto sat up a while longer, and when we reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes did he notice the ridiculous amount of sweat pooling for his body. He was still half asleep but gods he felt awful, warm and nauseous but for some reason goosebumps littered his freckled skin too. Prompto shivered and stood up, wobbling a little and pausing until he deemed himself fit enough to continue.

At first he wasn’t quite sure were exactly he body was carrying him. It was as if he was still sleeping, but was somehow aware of his surroundings. Then it begun to make sense; Prompto’s bare feet patted against the cool concrete floor of the room, making his way over towards the light.

He sighed with an even heavier exhaustion when he reached the table, firm hand dropping down onto the surface to hold himself upright, before he shifted and fell into one of the chairs at the table. Prompto tried to quieten his labored breaths, inhaling and exhaling through his nose an effort not to wake Ignis who laid not three-feet away.

First thing Prompto’s languid eyes caught sight of once he had adjusted to the light so close to his face; was the bottle of rubbing alcohol on the table. It had about a third of its content left, and for a moment Prompto pondered whether or not he’d get away with stealing a swig or two for himself. Ignis might have been blind but he was in no way an idiot. It was a bad call. Could you even drink rubbing alcohol? It sounded poisonous. In fact, it sounded incredibly dangerous and Prompto scolded himself for his stupidity.

It was then Prompto came to realize that he didn’t really know anything about alcohol at all. Having been enlisted as a member of Noctis’ Crownsguard from his mid-teen years brought with it a covenant of teetotalism, to always have a clear mind and devote oneself entirely in the service of the Prince. Prompto didn’t know about drinking, he didn’t know about ‘going out on the town’ like all the other teens in his earlier years, how could he? It wasn’t as if Prompto and Noctis could escape very far, the art of slipping under the radar was practically impossible after they had graduated High School, even when Noctis did live by himself away from the Citadel. Prompto’s idea of a wild night away from home was sleeping over at Noctis’ apartment, playing videogames and eating junk food until the two of them passed out on the sofa.

Prompto could drive- Cor had hesitantly taught him as part of his training as a Glaive- but he couldn’t dream of having the money to buy his own car. He had never driven to the home of a pretty girl, picked her up and taken her out on a date. He’d never partied until the sun was rising and he had forty missed calls and text messages from his Mom asking when he’d be home. He'd never rebelled. 

Why was Prompto thinking about all of this now? What did it mean, that he regretted his choices? No, he couldn’t have, he _didn’t_. It wasn’t as if he could have lived a ‘normal’ life anyway. Even if Prompto had never found Pryna and never been instructed by Luna to befriend Noctis; Insomnia would have still been destroyed. Would he have made it out alive, escaped the destruction like Iris, Talcott and Jared? Or would he have died amongst the rubble?

There was still the matter of the barcode, of his origins. Prompto may have despised the idea but there was no denying that he was Vestael’s clone. And if the twisted notions Ardyn was tormenting Prompto with were true, would Prompto ever have been able to ignore his calling?

_“You belong- to me.”_

Ardyn’s voice plagued Prompto’s mind. It was certain, it was affirming. The Chancellor had told Prompto his life wasn’t his own to live, and what if he was right? What if each and every decision Prompto made was not really his own? What if it was all a plan, his whole life in the making? What if it had never really been Prompto’s decision to heed Lunafreya’s call, what if he was drawn to Noctis, not because he wanted to be close, but because he was _made_ to be? What if it hadn’t really been that he’d fallen in love with Noctis at all… but that he was programmed to?

Prompto shook his head wildly thinking it might disperse the thoughts. His hands gripped at the table roughly, nails digging into the faded wood. Then he looked down towards the other item atop the table, reaching out and snatching it up an and instant. Prompto pleaded silently that the camera still worked, it struggled and remained static for a moment before the screen lit up bright. The blonde’s thumb wobbled in its attempt to press the playback button. It had been years since he had looked back at these photographs, not since they boarded the train for the Fodina Caestino mines. He’d left the camera in the trunk of the Regalia, tensions had been high, and he was far too busy guiding the recently injured Ignis with every step he took to even contemplate stopping to take a photograph. Prompto had thought the fate of the camera had been sealed after he fell from the train. Well more accurately, he’d thought his entire life was about to be cut short back then. But he’d been found; Noct and the others, they’d saved him and they were all together again, at least for a little while.

Prompto had found the remains of the wrecked Regalia along with Gladio and Ignis during their flee from Gralea. They told Prompto about how Noctis has sped through into the city and how they crashed and got split up. It was like being at a funeral, witnessing the broken shell of the thing that had kept them all together, and leaving it behind felt like they were losing a part of themselves.

The gallery screen materialised and Prompto held his breath. The first shot was of an early morning sky and the road ahead. They’d just left the walls of the Crown City, clueless as to what would await them. The next few shots were all similar, the dust plains of Leide, a pack of Dualhorn at a watering hole, then the car breaking down. Prompto couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the next shot. It was Gladio, looking exasperated at the camera, in the midst of yelling at Prompto to stop laughing and taking pictures and to help push the car because blurred out right behind him, the poor Regalia sat out of commission on the tarmac not even an hour into their expedition. Then there was a shot of Hammerhead, and another one, and then Prompto’s breath hitched.

 _Noctis_. He’d stripped down into only his T-shirt, the blistering heat of the desert causing him to brush a hand through his hair away from his face. He looked so young, so unfazed by anything. The last days Prompto had spent with Noctis, the ones clearest in his mind, were days filled with dread and anger and failure. A part of Noctis’ soul had died along with his father, a little more with Lady Luna. Noctis had grown weary and unsure of himself, terrified of the power of the ring and there was nothing Prompto could do to fix any of it.

Prompto’s fingers reached out and touched at the screen and he could feel his jaw wobbling. He needed to keep quiet, he couldn’t cry and wake Ignis, he couldn’t be rendered useless every time he thought of Noctis, he needed to try harder.

“Prompto?” Caught out. The blond looked up towards Ignis’ bed but the man was still lying down.

“Y-yeah?” Prompto replied, startled. He turned off the camera and set it back down on the table but made no effort to move just yet.

“It’s the middle of the night Prompto.”

“It’s always the middle of the night.” Prompto would have kicked himself over the deadbeat response, had it not been for the fact his body still felt so weary.

Ignis sighed and rolled over onto his back, pulling the covers up to his chest.

“You have a fever. The injuries you have sustained as of late, and the lack of a proper diet and poor sleep has taken its toll. You need to rest.” Prompto didn’t try to argue this time, instead finding the energy to pick himself up and fall back down into his bed.

It felt good to lie back down, Ignis was right. An instant relief engulfed Prompto as his head touched down against the pillow, and he too pulled his blanket up and curled into it.

Prompto thought Ignis might return back to sleep with that, but he didn’t. And the next words that left the advisor’s mouth made Prompto clutch at the covers even tighter.

“Gladio told me… about Miss. Antonia.” No _‘Tony’_ this time.

Prompto swallowed,

“I’m… sorry.” It was a pitiful response in truth, after all his previous frantic panic. But in his sickness Prompto found he didn’t have the energy to worry any longer. If Ignis was to hate him then we would, Prompto didn’t have it in him to fight it. Nor did he think he particularly deserved to try.

No response. Perhaps Ignis was giving him the silent treatment now, though that wasn’t particularly his style.

“What-“ Ignis stopped himself, and Prompto turned himself over to face his friend, and through the dull light of the lamp near his head, Prompto could make out Ignis’ physical struggle to get the words out. “What did she look like?”

“What?” Prompto blurted in an instant. What on earth did Ignis mean ‘what did she look like’? Well, Prompto knew what he meant but better yet, why? Didn’t he ever-

“I couldn’t very well ask her straightforwardly could I?” Ignis chuckled dryly.

Prompto let the question settle but he did not hesitate, he knew exactly how to respond.

“She,” he made himself more comfortable in the bed, lifting his head up to tuck his arm under it, “you remember the lady from the shampoo poster ad on the old bus stop outside mine and Noct’s High School?”

“Oh, _fuck_ off.”

Prompto didn’t think he’d ever heard Ignis mutter such a thing in all the years he’d known him. The blonde’s eyes widened in shock, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a garbled cough in response.

“She- uh yeah, she looked a lot like her. A little taller, and her eyes were a darker brown.” Prompto squeaked at an alarmingly high pitch, curling in on himself. Perhaps he should have gone about explaining in a manner less, _provocative_. But it was the truth, and Ignis- regardless of the circumstances- deserved to hear it.

“You mean to tell me that I’d been… _chatting up_ , a literal goodness?” Ignis’ pained laughter kind of freaked Prompto out, but he found he could do little else but grin alongside him.

The two men’s fit of dark laughter lasted on a while longer before it began to fade and the mood became solemn once more.

“Was you in love with her?” Prompto dared. It was invasive, but somehow it felt like the right thing to ask.

“I think-“ Ignis pondered, his voice incredibly low, only tangible to make out considering the two of them were otherwise engulfed in silence, “I think maybe I could have… one day.”

Prompto swallowed thick and licked at his cracking lips. The confession burned in his chest, and his heart ached for his friend, perhaps even a little selfishly for himself in remembrance of his own lost… _person_.

Then Ignis was laughing again. Prompto frowned, pulling himself up to rest on his elbows.

“Ig-“ But then it wasn’t laughter.

Ignis’ body turned fetal, and he regressed in on himself. Prompto watched on in helpless agony as his superior, his guardian, his _friend_ , shook in a distraught but almost silent whimper. Prompto couldn’t move, though even if he had, what help could he hope provide? His physical comfort would do nothing for Ignis, it couldn’t bring Antonia back. Prompto knew all too well how hopeless such an embrace truly was.

All Prompto could do was pray desperately, plead to those blasted gods that they would let him sleep, that they would take him away somewhere kinder- even if just for a little while- anywhere that wasn’t listening helplessly to his friend cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so slight change of plan, this really isn't a long chapter at all. I decided to cut down the chapter into two halves to avoid a large information dump.  
> I also wanted to keep Noct and Prom's 'first time' together sweet and special, so hopefully this short chapter is more satisfying.
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments, it really means a lot! Expect and update soon!

“Remind me again why you dragged me out of bed at four in the damn morning?” Noctis’ hair was unkempt with sleep, and he yawned with a stretch of his hands high above his head, an action causing his shirt to ride up and Prompto to snap his gaze away in flustered frustration.

“Because-“ Prompto shook the image of Noct’s inexplicably intoxicating sleepy features from his head, returning to the task of tying his shoelaces before he began to make distance between himself and the tent. “I have a plan. But the others can’t know about it so keep your voice down and hurry up!”

“Alright I’m coming, no need to beg.” Prompto hated when Noctis used that phrase. He hated it because ‘begging’ sounded very much like an activity Prompto _would_ like to do if Noctis was involved.

“So are we taking pictures or what?” Noct caught up to Prompto, who seemed to be lost in a world of his own, scanning around the rocks of the Galdin Quay bay.

“What? No no-“ Prompto shook his head, deciding upon a direction in which to start and hurrying off in a jog. “We’re making breakfast for a change, as a little thank you to Ignis for all his hard work.” Prompto skipped giddily with anticipation, excited to get to work and even more excited to capture the look on Iggy’s face when he saw.

“Okay, and are we walking all the way to Accordo to get?”

“I’m going to choose to ignore that.” Prompto spun on the balls of his feet, offering Noctis a smirk and ushering him to hurry up.

The sky rising reflected an intertwining hue of purples and oranges against the bay. It was still deadly silent about; no one else would willingly be awake or working this early on. Prompto regretted it was a time of the day he did not get to see often enough. It felt like a scandalous hour, but one so devastatingly beautiful that it felt a shame to let it go to waste. It was too bright for the daemons still to lurk, so the two young men carried on with ease. Prompto guided Noctis around the curve of the seafront until the Quay was out of sight and all that lied ahead were the lush green hills above them and the rock pools at their feet.

“I was talking to Coctura last night while you were fishing-“

“Flirting you mean?” Prompto scoffed at the accusation.

Noctis had promised the chef to help by reeling in some fresh Sea Bass the night before. Not that he found the work to be a chore as such, he practically pounced at the opportunity to have a reason for spending the evening fishing.

“ _Talking_ , and she told me about some cool berries she uses in her desserts as a spread, but they only seem to grow nearby in some over-hangings trees around this bend.”

It was while the young Prince was busy at work that Prompto found himself deep in conversation with Coctura as she was in the midst of her food preparation. She told Prompto all about the berries she’d first discovered on a morning hike, that they were plump and red, and sweet enough they didn’t need to be served with sugar.

“Your brilliant plan for breakfast is bread and jam?” Noctis chuckled, following Prompto carefully across a particularly uneven set of rocks, damp still from when the tide had been at its highest.

“Not jam, _spread_.” Prompto pouted, growing perturbed at his friend’s lack of faith in his full-proof plan. “This is to do something nice for your advisor; you can show a little bit of emotion you kn- wah!” Prompto lost his footing against the slippery rocks at his feet and Noctis’ hand was on him an instant.

“Ahaha, thanks…” Prompto laughed nervously, noticing Noctis was still to let go of his arm.

“Be careful.” The Prince grumbled under his breath, pulling his hand away and running it through his sleep-beaten hair.

Prompto didn’t dwell on the interaction too long, quickly enough his eyes caught sight of the prize only a few hundred meters ahead down the coastline.

“That’s them!” Prompto darted off excitedly, ignoring Noctis’ warnings about not slipping.

 

The tree hung down low over a more stable patch of rock, just atop the cliff face. Prompto was quick in his efforts to reach the branches, pushing a few aside to find the ripest looking fruits. He plucked one straight from its branch and popped it into his mouth, eyes widening ecstatically as the ridiculously sweet flavor hit his tongue when the fruit burst in his mouth.

“Wow! Noct you’ve gotta try this, Prompto picked a second one down, turning around and offering it out to his friend, “these are _insaneee_ they taste like sherbet of something! How is this even a fruit? Come on, try it!” Prompto pressured on as Noctis turned up this nose.

“Are you sure these are edible?”

“Dude, they sell them exactly like this at the restaurant. Come on it’s not a vegetable!” Prompto shoved the fruit at Noctis’ lips, who flailed around a moment before sighing and giving in.

“Fine.” Noctis entertained, opening his mouth for Prompto to put the fruit on his tongue, only when Prompto did so, he wasn’t quick in pulling his hand away. Noct’s mouth closed and his lips brushed against the tips of Prompto’s fingers.

Prompto hesitated a moment before shooting his hand away in mortified embarrassment, clutching it close to his chest.

“It’s… uh, it’s sweet.” The Prince whispered after swallowing the berry. Then he took a step forward.

“Y-yeah, I said it was sweet.” Prompto laughed anxiously, aiming to step back in turn but finding instead that his back hit against the rock wall of the cliff-face.

“So you did…”Noctis whispered, and before Prompto knew what was truly happening Noctis had stepped forward again and then his hand was at Prompto’s cheek and then he was _kissing_ him.

Prompto’s eyes screwed shut after a moment of initial shock, though his arms still flapped around helplessly in jarred movements. What was he to do with them? Touch Noctis? Where? Prompto was aware he was kissing the Prince back with just as much rushed effort, but he still had no concept of boundaries. Prompto settled instead for slapping his palms back against the rock wall ungracefully, gasping loudly for breath when Noctis pulled away.

“Sorry!” The Prince blurted frantically, his face looked ridiculous, redder then the berries. Prompto might have laughed if he wasn’t far too busy wondering what the hell had just happened. “I- I thought that was where we were headed… like, you know- what was going on n’ all?”

“It is!” Prompto was quick to defuse Noctis’ babbling. They were both shaking like new-born deer, awkward and unsure of themselves. “I just, I wasn’t expecting…”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Prompto felt his heart burn when Noctis cast his eyes down, embarrassed with his actions.

“You didn’t-“ Prompto calmed his breath, and brought his hands up to Noct’s shoulders, “you didn’t freak me out you…”

Who was Prompto kidding, he _was_ freaked out. Prompto had been waiting years for this moment. So many times he tried to plan it all inside of his head, how he’d tell Noctis that he saw him as so much more than just a friend. He’d thought about what Noctis might say in return, what they would do. He’d thought of how Noctis would kiss him for the first time, slow and passionate, and how time around them would stop completely, _not_ \- Noctis crashing his berry-stained lips against Prompto’s with enough force to knock out his front teeth.

Yet somehow, as Noctis looked to Prompto with a fragility so intimate and so new that he was positive Noct had never felt something as such before; Prompto found he cared very little for any sort of poetic, soft bottom lip, fluffy pillow-crap first encounter.

“Oh come here you-“ Prompto pulled Noctis down to him, their lips connecting instantly in an opened-mouth kiss as frantic and startling as the first.

Prompto’s hands rose up and around Noctis’ neck, curling up into his hair. He could hear Noctis’ heavy breathing from his nose, and the Prince jolted with an awkward sense of direction until one of his hands found Prompto’s waist, the other pressing up against the rock wall. Prompto found himself sighing as Noct’s fruit-sweetened tongue slid against his. They were messy and unorganized, both terribly inexperienced, frigid and sheltered in their youth. But perks of Noctis being Prompto’s first _real_ kiss, he had nothing to compare it to, and to Prompto, Noctis was perfect.

The Prince’s hand shifted, and brushed against the bare skin of Prompto’s hip and the blond shuddered. Noctis was perceptive to that, taking another small step forward until his stomach bumped against Prompto’s, forcing the two of them closer together. Then Prompto pulled away because gods he just wanted to kiss Noctis everywhere, His cheeks, his jaw, down his neck. Noctis unwound under every one, eyes screwed shut and biting at his lip harshly to halt himself from letting slip a ridiculous groan. But then Prompto bit down against Noctis’ neck, and that plan when out the window. Noctis gasped and Prompto didn’t think he’d heard a better sound in his life. The Prince’s hips bucked forward with hormonal instinct and the budge in his jeans brushed against Prompto’s.

The blond thought his entire body could have exploded on the spot, the way the friction coursed through his veins in shockwaves of new-found excitement. Prompto’s hands snapped down, grabbing at Noctis’ own hips and just holding him against him.  He let out a shuddering breath against Noctis’ cheek before craning his head to kiss at his lips again. The friction of their bodies only increased the deeper their kisses became, and Prompto found himself whining into Noctis mouth every time his hips rocked into him. 

“Noct-“ Prompto sighed against the other’s lips and Noctis pulled away to eye up Prompto’s bleedingly obvious erection. Noctis swallowed,

“You, uh,” He fumbled, hand sliding down from its spot at Prompto’s waist, down his upper thigh, Prompto keened into it, then Noctis’ fingers found Prompto’s zipper and he trembled on a sigh, “you sure you… I mean, with me?”

Noctis had barely formulated an entire sentence but Prompto knew exactly what he meant. The blonde’s hands worked up; one stopped at the fabric of Noctis’ shirt at his chest, grabbing hold for dear life, the other reaching further, until his hand was cupping at Noctis’ cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a delicate motion.

“I’ve _never_ ,” Prompto swallowed, rocking Noctis’ head forward a little, eyes unblinking and sure, “been so sure of anything in my life. You?”

“Me too.” And that was all Noctis said before his lips were back on Prompto’s and his hand tugged at his zipper.

Noctis struggled a moment, his hands shaking. But soon enough he managed to steady himself, and once the zipper was loose his hand shoved the fabric of both Prompto’s jeans and underwear away, grasping firmly at him.

“ _Noct_ -“ Prompto hissed, and rested his temple against Noctis, mouth agape and panting against his cheek.

It was a relief to be free of the material constraining him, and they rendered his legs trapped where they rested at his upper thighs.

Noctis didn’t exactly set himself a pace, unsure of himself, making a few experimental tugs and listening carefully to each sound Prompto made, overwhelmed with the way his body arched and craned into his touch.

“Noct- you-“ Prompto struggled, his lips close to Noctis’ ear. The prince shuddered at the broken voice he heard, “you too.”

“What?” Noctis gasped, and he dragged his thumb harshly where he has Prompto in his hand and Prompto moaned.

“You too- ah-“ He repeated and Noctis understood. The Prince wasted no time as he removed his grip from Prompto just long enough to shake down his own jeans, and grabbing at both erections as best he could, stroking at Prompto more than himself, but bucking his hips against the warm friction so frantically Prompto was seeing stars.

Noctis’ strokes became relentless, and Prompto knew he really wasn’t going to last long. It was just all too much, the anticipation had built up for so long. And it was just _Noctis_ ; how his body felt, warm against Prompto’s, the noises he made, broken breathes and groans, and the smell of him. Prompto felt a heat pooling in his stomach, he was close.

“Noc-tis-“ He tried, his hands up either side of the Prince’s face, holding him tight and close, noses bumping together.

Noct kissed him ones, fast, and then he dragged his thumb over Prompto’s slit and the blond just about _died_. Prompto’s eyes squeezed shut and he doubled with a gasping moan and then he was coming. Noctis worked him through it, and when Prompto came down from his high, his eyes slowly opened and all he could see was is Noctis’ face. The Prince’s eyes balled shut and his brows screwed together. Prompto’s panted to regain his breath and his forehead dropped against Noctis’, watching the Prince’s face as he worked himself to finish. Soon Noctis was spilling into his own hand with a strangled groan. Prompto’s hands still held on to him, massaging his fingers through the sides of Noctis’ hair until the Prince found his breath again, and kissed at Prompto’s cheek bashfully.

And then Prompto was laughing. He swallowed, and breathed out shakily amidst his chuckles, letting his eyes fall closed again in contentment and just feeling Noctis there with him.

“Why are you laughing?” Noctis mumbled nervously, causing Prompto to only giggle louder.

“Come on,” Prompto cooed, kissing Noct’s pouting and worried face, “I’m laughing because I’m happy.”

Noctis relaxed at that, and Prompto could hear the grin as it appeared on his friend’s face.

 

They stayed like that for a long while, Prompto just holding Noctis close, smiling and and stroking the sides of his face. Though Noctis was the first to break the silence, an awkward comment about how he felt gross and kind of wanted to go wash his hands off. Snorting on a laugh, Prompto let him go, back falling firmer against the rock wall and watching through the branches of the berry tree as Noctis jogged off towards a pool of seawater not too far away.

“Young love. Such a gorgeous innocence, don’t you think?” Prompto froze at the voice.

This hadn’t happened, this wasn’t part of the memory. Prompto pushed aside the branches obstructing his view and then he saw Ardyn, just standing there, disgusting smirk at his face.

Prompto’s face whitened and his limbs quaked.

“You- you-“ He stammered, terrified out of his wits. With frantic embarrassment Prompto reached to fasten up his jeans that sat slack at his hips, a move which only seemed to heighten Ardyn’s amusement.

He’d been dreaming, but it wasn’t like before. This had been a memory; this was something that had actually happened. But now Ardyn had found his way inside of it.

“You can’t… not here- please-“ Prompto hated how his lip quivered, that the mere presence of Ardyn had rendered him into a position of begging. But it was all so grossly unfair. Ardyn just had to be there, had to find whatever fragment of happiness Prompto held close and just, _ruin_ it.

“Oh but you see I can-“ Ardyn tried to step forward but Prompto wasn’t about to let it happen; he wasn’t going to give Ardyn the satisfaction of pinning him up against the wall.

“Because you _‘own me’_ , fat chance!” Prompto stumbled back, aiming to get enough distance between himself and the Chancellor as he could.

Prompto snapped his head back, but when he looked he found that Noctis was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the air had grown cooler too, and the sky a murky gray. Prompto’s eyes found the berry tree, its branches were bare, the wood withered and dead. A harsh salty wind barreled in and the ocean’s waves seemed to grow more intense each time time they hit against the sore, until they were crashing against the rocks and water began to propel upwards in harsh thrusts.

“You can’t fight this forever Prompto.” Ardyn called out over the waves. The wind picked up and Prompto squinted and shook the hair scratching at his eyes.

“Yeah?” Prompto laughed bitterly, spitting at the ground, “Watch me.” It was a front of course. Prompto was terrified, vulnerable, and exhausted of the entire ordeal. He wanted out, not just out the nightmare but the hell on earth too. If he couldn’t have Noctis with him, what was the point anyways?

But he couldn’t let Ardyn know, he couldn’t give that man any more of himself to twist and toy with.

“For pity sake!” And then Ardyn had vanished, only to reappear in a split second again inches from Prompto’s face. The shock drove Prompto backwards, and he slipped and fell harshly onto his back against the rocks below.

Prompto didn’t even have the time to contemplate the pain before Ardyn’s legs were pegged either side of him, coattails at Prompto’s thighs and a hand was reaching down, grabbing roughly at Prompto’s shirt and holding him up from the floor.

Prompto’s hands reached up and grasped at Ardyn’s wrist in an attempt to pry himself free, but his clutch was unwavering.

“I’ve grown tired of your foolish dreaming; do you not understand what I am? What I can do?” Prompto gaped as Ardyn’s composure crumbled, and his face began to distort into something truly wicked.

It was like he had seen back at the Keep, how the veins in Ardyn’s face darkened, and from the corners of his eyes and the cracks in his mouth, a blackness thick like blood trickled down, staining his teeth when he sneered. Most daemonic of all was his eyes; through the thick red-velvet shroud of the Chancellor’s hair they pierced, whole and yellow like a violent acid threatening to burn away at Prompto’s flesh from their stare alone.

Ardyn twisted the fabric of Prompto’s shirt in his hand, causing it to rise up uncomfortably around his neck, almost choking him. Prompto gasped but found his struggling only caused Ardyn’s grip to tighten.

“I am a _King_!” Ardyn’s voice seemed to echo within his mouth, deep and disjointed, the words falling from his tongue with a volatile hiss. “And I did not wait for my right of passage for two millennia to have some pitiful, failed creation get in my way!”

“Wha- what are you even talking about?!” Prompto’s thoughts were frantic. A King? Was Ardyn truly that power-mad?

But that didn’t make any sense. The Emperor Aldercapt had thought himself the rightful ruler and Ardyn worked willingly in his service. Surely with the power that Prompto knew Ardyn to possess, he would have been able to overthrow his competition with ease?

And if so, why was Ardyn so fixated on cruel games such as tormenting Prompto’s dreams? Why would he have aided Noctis in obtaining the Archean’s power, instead of destroying it like the Empire had tried Leviathan?

So, what? Ardyn was telling the truth? But how could that even be possible? If Ardyn had a true birthright to the throne, then that’d make him one of the Lucis birth-line just like Noctis.  And _‘two millennia’_ , just exactly how old was Ardyn? Did he never age, how was he even alive?

“The Line of Lucis will end with Noctis Caelum, and soon when he emerges from that crystal I will finally be free of this hell and be granted from the gods what they denied me, what is rightfully mine!”

Prompto’s hands slacked in their hold at Ardyn’s wrist, the words burned into his brain and his lips parted in a silent understanding, his eyes widened.

 _‘When he emerges’_ , so Noctis truly would come back. It was just like Prompto had believed. Better yet _‘soon’_. Did that mean Noctis would really return in his lifetime, that The Darkness would be defeated, that Prompto would see the sun again, see _Noct_ again?

Ardyn registered the understanding on Prompto’s face and he regressed, face devolving back into its natural state. Had he said too much? Or was it all a purposeful attempt to let Prompto know as much as Ardyn needed him to? The Chancellor’s features softened as he regained his composure, and the he smiled like liquid gold.

“Or perhaps I shall remain… permit the Starscourge everlasting. Then we might see just how long it takes for your resolve to crumble.” And he let go, letting Prompto’s head crack against the rocks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so a pretty dialogue-heavy chapter here... aghh I hate having to write the guys arguing D: Although the guest appearance of a certain somebody this chapter sort of made up for it. I hope you enjoy!

Prompto woke on the floor in a fit of coughs and gasps for air. It was if he had been strangled, and was now finally being granted air to fill his lungs. His throat burned and his eyes watered, and Prompto wheezed some more as he felt his way across the floor, crawling on his hands and knees over the cool concrete until he found the wall, and pulled himself up just high enough to grab hold of the light cord, pulling it down and falling back to the floor when the overhead light flickered on.

“Ah, shit…” He groaned, exhausted from the excursion and letting himself relax against the wall.

Prompto looked over towards Ignis’ cot, empty. Then he turned his gaze towards the clock they’d fitted to the wall to try keep hold of some sort of natural order. It was six in the afternoon, and besides for waking up and chatting to Ignis, Prompto had been asleep for over a day.

He felt it in his bones too. His entire body ached from having been dormant for so long. He was starving, he reeked of his own body odor, and he was in desperate need of the bathroom. Prompto fumbled with the wall to stand, silently thankful that Ignis and Gladio had put him to bed in his clothes so all he had to do was slip into his boots before making a B-line for the front door, towel in tow.

Bathroom. Shower. Hopefully food. It should have been an easy enough endeavor. Despite his aching limbs, Prompto’s head felt a hell of a lot clearer and he was no longer nauseous. Perhaps he had managed to break his fever from all of the rest.

 

The moment Prompto emerged out the front doors of the storage facility, he found the streets to be particularly busy, everyone appeared to be flocking in the same direction.

Prompto swallowed his curiosity and occupied himself instead with making his was over to the bathroom inside the old launderette across the street. After, to the nearest street shower located through a tight side ally leading out into what used to be the old market; now the central hub for both personal hygiene, as well as weapons procurement. Despite the seemingly enormous flock of people migrating towards what Prompto now grasped to be city square that opened out onto the overlook; the shower blocks were as densely populated as always. The blond wormed his way through the clusters of hunters exchanging ammunition as well as the assortment of half-naked men and women dripping wet as they exited their shower cubicles.

There was a strict regime of military-style brisk showers unless otherwise stated. And Prompto had to stop himself from ecstatically kissing the lady with the clipboard who eyed him up and told him he could take longer to really get the grime out of his skin. Prompto fitted in line, and began to remove his shirt and shoes in perpetration before it was finally his turn, and he darted forward into the open cubical- a small two-by-four box, closed together with scrap wooden and alloy panels, only providing modesty in the form of a translucent white tarp that hung over as a curtain. The cubicles were nearly identical, all particularly poorly maintained, held together by the pipes that ran between them, the water rushing through causing them to squeak and rattle with uncertainty.

Prompto sighed in delight when he found the water to be somewhat tepid as opposed to its more frequently icy temperature. He relished in the fine time he had to scrub the dirt and sweat from his skin, rinse off his underwear under the water, as well as cool off his face and wash the grease from his hair. Still it seemed to be over far too soon, and before Prompto found he could truly enjoy himself, he heard the metallic chime of one of the shower assistants rattling at the pipework overhead Prompto’s shower, telling him it was time for him to get out. Prompto sighed and switched off the water-flow, reaching for his towel and patting his lower half dry before slipping back into his trousers and boots and leaving.

As Prompto dried at his back and hair, then slipping his tank top back over his head and leaving the towel to rest at his shoulders, he found himself following in the direction of the crowds.

“Um, excuse me-“ Prompto tugged at one gentlemen’s arm, “what’s going on down here?”

Before the man answered they had turned into the street of the city square, even more people were flocking from every direction down the steps and into the road where a large man-built bonfire blazed wildly. Its flames shot up tall and the smoke even higher above the crowds. It was then too that Prompto began to notice many of the people around him were holding their own candle flames. It was not unheard of, many carried with them a constant light amidst The Darkness, even through the well-lit streets of Lestallum. But usually people would carry a torch, not a candle. They surrounded Prompto at every side, large ones, small ones, wide and thin, all baring a similar naked flame that permitted an orange glow against the skin of the person who carried it.

“It’s a vigil.” The man finally replied, eyes glued towards the bonfire ahead and not stopping. Prompto stood bewildered only a moment, before he carried on forward to question the stranger again.

“A vigil for who?” The man looked back at Prompto as if he were mad.

“For everyone.” He said it as if it were obvious. Prompto let the stranger leave but his hand wavered up where he had reached out to him; his eyes remaining transfixed on the raging fire ahead.

 

There was slight muffled chatter amongst people, but besides from that, all Prompto could truly hear was the crackle of the bonfire flames. No one was really saying anything. If it were a vigil, then it was a silent one. There were no hymens or speeches of remembrance for those who had fallen. Yet even so, Prompto knew it was a plea to the Astrals.

A woman beside him whispered, her hands interlocked together at her lips, eyes screwed shut in prayer.

“Blessed be the gods, blessed be Bahamut, save us.”

Then more voices began to make themselves clear.

“Astrals help us.”

“Free us from the daemons.”

Prompto didn’t know why, but as the voices muttered around him in a chorus of pleas and promises of devotion, his body tensed. He felt, well- sick? Angry? But _why_? He couldn’t understand why it was their faith in the gods made his stomach turn, why his hands twisted into firsts and he found himself scowling at the flames and hordes of people ahead.

 _Ardyn_. The dream. The Chancellor’s words came back to Prompto in a flood; about the gods and about what they had ‘denied’ him. Prompto hardly understood it, all the talk of some sort to divine right of passage he was not granted evaded him. The only thing that Prompto could truly make sense of what that Ardyn believed Noctis would return. Or rather, that he needed him to for his plan to succeed. Whatever that was.

But then why had Ardyn been so disgruntled by Prompto’s own fixation on Noctis’ eventual return? Surely in some bizarre way they then shared a common desire?

_“The Line of Lucis will end with Noctis Caelum.”_

Luna, the Oracle was dead, Noctis had no one in which to to provide him an heir, at least not right away. But this was more affirmative then that. This was an end of _kings_ , an end of _Lucis_ , and if Ardyn was so desperate for Noctis to return the did that mean-

“Screw your face up any more and people will think you’ve been straining in the little boys’ room.” Prompto needed not turn towards the voice beside him, he already knew who it was.

“I thought you were meant to be down in Tenebrae?” Prompto ignored Aranea’s mockery.

“Well, there’s only so much sand I can handle, dries out the hair you know.” Prompto knew she was lying, but he daren’t pry unless prompted to.

Aranea sighed, lowering herself to sit down on the steps below them. Prompto stared at her a moment. It had been at least two years since he’d last seen the Dragoon, when she and her band of mercenaries decided they couldn’t sit still in a city like Lestallum. Besides, she’d worked for the Niff’s for so long, her accomplices too, it wasn’t exactly easy for them to find peace in Lucian territory.

“Not sure about that whole goatee look you’ve got going on, what happened to your baby-face?”

She looked older too somehow, her face made more hollow, and her hair cut lazily shorter, tied now into one single bun. Still, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her rich leather attire, and the fact that somehow she just seemed cleaner, and not as exhausted with life as the rest of world.

“I grew up.”

Prompto sat down beside her, hands in his lap and playing absently with his thumbs until Aranea spoke again.

“Biggs is dead.” Prompto watched as Arenea’s eyes steadied on the flames ahead, unmoving.

He’d only met Aranea’s subordinate the once before The Darkness, at the same time Noct, Ignis, and himself had been provided the help of Aranea from none other than Chancellor Izunia. It was yet another piece of evidence as to the obscurity that was his nature; a way in which Ardyn ever drifted between aiding Noctis in reaching his goals, and tormenting him to the point of near death.

“I’m sorry.” It was a phrase quickly becoming so common Prompto hardly contemplated it as it fell from his lips.

His eyes cast back down to his hands, and with a flick of his wrist he summoned his Hyper Magnum, watching as the gun appeared with a flash of bright blue figments of crystal. Then, after holding onto it only for a moment, did he send it away, only to repeat the action again.

“Yeah… well, he tried his best I guess.” Her voice was soft and low, and it was clear Biggs’ death was still a memory freshly etched in her mind.

“Is that why you’re here? Didn’t peg you for much of a god worshiper.” Prompto asked the Captain, flicking his wrist and summoning the gun again.

“I need some new recruits in my squadron. You interested?” Aranea raised a brow, turning away from the fire and around towards Prompto, though her eyes quickly feel down and watch Prompto as he continued at the motion with his hand, summoning the firearm and then sending it away again.

“Thanks, but Niff territory isn’t exactly at the top of my list of most desirable holiday destinations.” Prompto snorted. As much as life within Lestallum was suffocating, and the idea of escaping somewhere a little less densely packed did seem appealing; a region surrounded by not only daemons but Magitek soldiers too did nothing for Prompto’s curiosity.

“Jeez- would you quit that?” Arenea cut in quick, tutting at the pistol in Prompto’s hand.

“Sorry,” Prompt cast it away and shifted his hands to rest at the floor, “force of habit.”

“I thought the idea of being able to summon your weapon was so you didn’t have to carry it all the damn time.” Aranea was usually more of a relaxed personality, and Prompto wasn’t sure if it was the fresh reality of her subordinate’s death or something more that had her so on edge. Yet regardless of the circumstances he found his already foul mood was only beginning to worsen the more Aranea continued to bite at him.

“It just… reminds me that he’s close.” Prompto tried to shake away his frustrations, and bit at his lip.

“Oh for- really?” Aranea gawped, folding her arms tightly and frowning, “You’re still hung up after six years?”

Prompto’s jaw tensed, and he could feel a vexed heat rise in his cheeks.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” He hissed, leaning away from the woman beside him slightly.

“It means you need to get a grip and think about something other than the Prince!” Prompto gawped at the accusation, letting it fester and boil inside of him until he quickly burst.

“Why do you care? Wasn’t it you who told me to stop caring what others thought and decide what it is that I want?” He bit back, struggling to keep a low volume to his voice as to not draw the anyone’s attention.

“And what is it that you want then, huh? To sit and waste your life away hoping that he might come back? What if he doesn’t, what then?”

“He will come back.” Prompto was sure. Not just because of Ardyn’s words in his dream, but because Noctis just had to.

He was the rightful King of Lucis, in a pact far from mortal control. And it wasn’t as if Noctis had died, there was no body. His entire being was seemingly forced into the crystal and if there was a way in, then there had to be a way out.

“If you’re so sure then why are you still not doing something now?” Prompto shook his head wildly, brows creasing with each jab Aranea hurled at him, relentless and unkind, “Can you not handle things on your own? Are you really fine with just lying back and taking it all when you could be putting up a fight?”

“I have been fighting!” Prompto barked, though quick enough to withdraw when a few passing heads turned to face him in a mixture of confusion and anger at his disruption to the peaceful ceremony, “Do you think that I’ve just sat on my ass for the past six years?” He continued on quieter, but Aranea merely scoffed. 

“You might be on the defensive but you’re not doing anything to make a real change.”

“How? How am I supposed to do something? I can’t rip the Starscourge from the sky!” Prompto found himself livid, reaching a hand up and gesturing at the blackness that swelled over-head.

“But you are putting all your faith in hoping that Noctis can?” Aranea grabbed at his arm roughly, pulling it down but clutching still, her nails sharp and grip unwavering, “There’s a difference between having faith in your leader and just letting them do all the work for you. Right now you’re being nothing but selfish.”

“I’m not sitting here just so you can belittle me.” The young man yanked himself free, seizing his wrist up to his chest and drawing up to stand.

“If you’re really putting all your faith in him being our savior, then what exactly are _you_ for?” Prompto looked down at Aranea as if she had killed a man.

How could she sit there and chastise Prompto for being a waste of space?

She knew he’d once considered himself as such, hell, she had been one of those to help him see otherwise. And now it was as if she were taking it all back, as if her words years past had been nothing but a lie to have him co-operate. It hurt to consider. 

Prompto’s snapped his head away, proceeding with a swift march from the vigil and away from Aranea, not even bothering to look back or boast a response.

 

 

 

*

 

 

“ _Ugh_!” Prompto kicked the door shut with the back of his foot. He made an effort to slap his boots down heavily with each step he trudged across the storeroom, as if it it might somehow alleviate some of his anger. He only cased when he looked up to spot the witnesses to his temper tantrum. Gladio and Ignis sat across from one another at the round dinner table, the collection of papers in Gladio’s hands fell loose in his grip, and his eyebrows raised slightly.

“So the fever broke?” Gladio mussed, letting the papers rest against the table and leaning back in his chair.

“Dinner’s in the pot.” Ignis still had his back to Prompto, though unlike Gladio he appeared indifferent to overhearing Prompto’s raging attitude. He sat courteous and still, walking cane propped up between his hands.

Prompto shook off the way Ignis’ quiet and poised attitude made him feel uneasy. Perhaps his friend was simply embarrassed by his behavior the previous night? Prompto carried on towards the kitchenette, the surface counter with the portable hob on top hosted a pot, and to the left of it a bowl and spoon for Prompto. Upon further inspection he began to recognize the smell, it was the peppers. Ignis had diced them finely, applying them and what appeared to be a tinned carrot and onion soup.

Prompto wasted little time before he grabbed for the spoon and begun helping himself, having to control his pangs of raging hunger which tempted him to eat straight from the pot.

Prompto was in the midst of dislodging a chunk of carrot from his back tooth when he observed over his bowl that Gladio was still watching him with every urgent mouthful he took, Ignis also clearly concentrating on the blonde’s movements.

“You uh,” Prompto swallowed, setting the bowl down and leaning against the counter, “weren’t at the vigil?”

 

In his parade back from the city square Prompto had been rather surprised neither of his friends were anywhere to be found. Regardless of what first-hand experience they had in dealing with the Astrals, attending seemed like the natural thing to do. Especially after Antonia’s death, and how Ignis had broken down the night before. Prompto couldn’t understand why neither of them thought to go and pay their respects.

“Gladio and I… had some matters to discuss.” Ignis replied slowly, almost methodical in his choice of words. It did nothing to calm Prompto’s nervous curiously. “Just some general mission preparation. And… the young man from your hunting party- Taine- he needed to be assigned to a different unit.”

“What? Why, is he okay?” Prompto questioned in a frantic panic.

He hadn’t seen Taine since their last mission together. As he recalled, the man didn’t appear to be injured at all after their run-in with the Red Giants. And as far as Prompto was aware, the radio technician hadn’t been part of any hunts since that day.

“Yes, just… he needs other work.” Prompto sensed Ignis’ discomfort of the subject, the way his fingers toyed with the cane in his hands.

“Considering how you’ll be out of commission for a while.” Gladio finished for him, and as he spoke Prompto could feel the build-up of angered confusion etch itself into his face.

“You’re really using that phrase with me?” Prompto tutted, pushing himself up off the counter and making his way closer towards the table.

“That’s not what Gladio meant to say.” Ignis defused, scolding Gladio with a kick to his shin underneath the table.

“Well what does he mean? Why am I not being assigned missions?” Prompto croaked on his words. He felt betrayed, as if they were belittling him too just like Aranea had. Like they had all just collectively decided that Prompto wasn’t good enough anymore.

“You’ve over-worked yourself. You need to rest Prompto-“ Ignis tried, but he was quickly interjected.

“I don’t need to rest! You think I can’t handle it out there?” Prompto was quick to fold his arms, finding himself pacing in small circles about the table. “Jeez, you guys say I’m doing too much, Aranea thinks I’m not doing enough-“

“It’s not that we don’t think you can handle it; we’re not suggesting that.”

“But you are though!” Prompto flailed, gesturing his hand out towards the two at the table, “You think since I got hurt, because I got that little girl killed, because Tony’s dead, you think that I’m going to screw up again-“

“Quit making us out to be some sort of villains here!” Gladio barked, chair scraping harshly against the floor as he stood. Ignis jolted slightly where he sat but made no attempt to calm Gladio down. “Of course we don’t think you’re a screw up. But you’re not exactly helping yourself when it comes to keeping a clear head!”

“You talk to him in your sleep Prompto. To the Chancellor.” Ignis’ voice was firm, but laced distinctly with an undoubtable sadness. Prompto found his mouth was rapidly turning dry, and he struggled to swallow.

He felt ashamed; like he was somehow betraying his friends for having such such dreams of Ardyn, as if he had a choice.  

"Yeah? He messes with all of us, that’s what he does, right?” Prompto tried to shrug off that topic, finding comfort in the distraction of picking at the loose threads of fabric fraying at the scruffs in his jeans.

“It’s not the same. He’s using your relationship with Noct to try and get to you.” Gladio attempted to soften his tone, reaching and rubbing a hand at Prompto’s shoulder.

It was awkward and forced, and the touch did nothing to alleviate Prompto’s certifiable dismay. In fact, it only succeeded in making the young man even more unsettled. They were treating him like some sort of child; and it was nothing but a fake mollycoddle of gentle touches and soothing words they thought Prompto would be able to digest.

“So, what. You want me to… _get over_ Noct?” The words left Prompto’s lips with an unbelieving gasp, shrugging Gladio’s grip from his shoulder, “Are you serious right now?”

“We just think it’d be beneficial for you to have a break to clear your head, time to find something else to focus on.” Ignis was standing now too, but the confrontation became all the more suffocating, and Prompto begun to step back and hold his hands out to stop the two getting any closer.

“You’re asking me to forget about him? What happened to waiting for him to come back? We need to be ready!” Prompto couldn’t understand any of it. They were supposed to be in this together, the three of them. They knew Noctis would return, and it was an unspoken promise between them that they’d be ready for him when he would.

Their job hadn’t finished, not yet, not while the sky was still dark.

“And we will be. But Noct wouldn’t want you to sit and waste your life away-“

“Oh and this right here is _living_?”

“It’s all we’ve got Prompto.” Ignis continued to interject Prompto’s disputes, hands gradually tightening around the head of the cane in his hand until it was beginning to quake in his grasp. “And I don’t know about you but I bloody well want to protect what’s left of this world right now. You can’t carry on half-heartedly hoping he’ll be back any time soon.”

“But he will be back soon!”

“And how would you know?” Gladio huffed, clearly growing frustrated with Prompto’s persistence to argue.

“Ar- Ardyn told me-“

“You’re going to believe what that squirrely freak tells you? He’s trying to mess with your head.” The Shield rolled his eyes and rubbed at his face wearily.

“You’re wrong! This was different, it was- it was like he didn’t mean to tell me-“ Prompto needed to tell them, about what Ardyn had told him, about his claims of being a King, but there was something Prompto was still missing, he couldn’t piece it all together.

“Of course he did! He’s a master manipulator. He’s letting you hear exactly what he wants you to ‘til he’s got you wrapped around his wormy finger. You can’t give him reason to come after you.”

They would never listen to him. Not without some sort of solid understanding or proof. Gods, they would think Prompto was insane.

“Is it really that easy for you to just leave Noctis behind?” Prompto laughed bitterly, struggling to look the other two in the eyes.

“Watch it-“ Gladio warned harshly, pointing a finger out to Prompto.

“Gladio,” Ignis cut in an attempt to calm the larger man down, “he’s upset.”

“Damn right I’m upset! Does Noct mean that little to you that you’d just carry on as if he was never here?” Prompto was welling up, heart-broken at how they were crumbling apart. “You’re asking me to do the impossible here, you think I could leave his side so easily?”

“You don’t think we love him too?!” And then Gladio was really yelling, in a brutal rage, he crashed his fists down against the tabletop, and both Ignis and Prompto jolted out their skins, “You don’t think it hurts us to wake up every morning without him here? Ignis and I, our whole lives have been devoted to Noct, you don’t think we’re struggling to let go?”

“But _why_ are you letting go?” Prompto pleaded, screwing his fists up tight and shutting his eyes. He was struggling to speak clearly without his words coming out as nothing more than a gasping hiccup.

“Because I can’t just live for him! What about living for _me_?” Gladio was mere inches away from Prompto’s face now, clutching either side of the smaller man, shaking him so harshly Prompto felt sick. “What about Iris? Ignis? _You_? I have other things to worry about! Noctis always knew that!”

Prompto’s face fell flat, the colour draining from his face. His jaw ached, and head throbbed, it was as if were in the midst of a silent cry, but one without any tears.

“You’ve given up on him.” He croaked, body turning limp in Gladio’s grasp.

“No… now don’t you dare.” Gladio released him, stepping back when Ignis reached a hand out to his shoulder, “You’ve not got a _fucking_ clue!” He jabbed, voice hoarse and shaking.

Prompto thought Gladio might have cried if he’d have pressed on much further. He wasn’t sure he’d even seen him that close to the brink before. Maybe once when he thought Iris might have been lost during the fall of Insomnia. The Shield had drawn away into seclusion, excusing himself to the back of the party and only elevating once again when his sister’s call came through.

“Ha… yeah, guess you’re right.” Prompto’s eyes trailed away and found themselves latched on to his camera at the table.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knew, truly in his heart that Gladio and Ignis were right. He had pushed himself too hard, hell, he was exhausted. But he just couldn’t stop. Perhaps Aranea had been right also, that Prompto wasn’t doing enough to help the cause- whatever that was.

He needed to get away from this place. Somewhere where he could morn in peace, and somewhere where that wouldn’t pose a danger to those around him. But most of all he needed answers, and he wasn’t going to find them just sitting around.

“I best get out your hair then.” Prompto swallowed, and made his way towards his cot, reaching out underneath for his duffle bag.

“Prompto what are you doing?” Ignis’ head snapped in his direction, sensing the sounds of rustling and movement as Prompto grabbed what spare clothes he owned, a hand-held torch, and his camera from the dinner table.

“Leaving.” He replied flatly, bumping at Ignis’ shoulder as he swooped his way over towards the door. “It’s like you said, I need a break. I need out of here- I need space- _ugh_ gods it’s suffocating!” He yelped, slapping himself against the cheek once in efforts to regain composure.

“You can’t! Gladio, please, stop him!” Ignis begged, reaching out in panic until he found Gladio’s sleeve, holding on tight.

“To hell with it, let him go. He wants to get himself killed listening to Ardyn then he can be my guest.” Gladio’s tone was unforgiving.

“Prompto- Prompto come on now-“ Ignis shoved Gladio away, his cane falling to the floor with a clatter has he stepped forward, reaching his arms out to find Prompto.

The younger man held his breath, swift in his movements to open the door and step out into the hall before Ignis could reach him.

Could he do it? Could he walk on the two of them like this?

“Goodbye Iggy.” He didn’t give himself the time to question it before he was making for the exit.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

There was a single truck bound for the fishing lake by Alistor Slough when Prompto arrived at the station. It was the furthest ride he could hitch on such short notice, and thankfully the driver was familiar with Prompto’s extensive combat experience, so appreciated his offer to help clear out the daemons that favored the highlands above the disc in exchange for the lift.

It was as Prompto was tying down a supply crate to the floor of the truck when a large thud sounded to the side of his feet, and he looked down to see a small backpack had been thrown at him.

“What?” Prompto asked plainly, turning round to face Gladio, who kept his distance a couple of feet away, arms folded and still scowling.

“Your share of the month’s rations. Iggy said to come give them to you. If you’re really going through with this.” He huffed, nodding towards the bag, and when Prompto reached down to unzip it he found it filled almost to the brim with tinned foods and dried meat in wrapped plastic. It was definitely more than his share of the month’s supplies.

Prompto swallowed down the pang of guilt that lodged itself in his throat and picked up the bag, tossing it over his shoulder.

“You guys are wrong.” Prompto looked back over his shoulder to the driver and accompanying hunter when they called out that it was time to make a move. “It’s not missing Noct that’s clouding my judgement. It’s… this- all of this.” He turned back round to Gladio, gesturing his free arm out around him. “The regime, the half-assed protocol, living on top of one another… being terrified of falling asleep in case the lights go out.”

“You think that’s gonna be any different out there?” Gladio’s temper had depleted, and it was clear from the hushed tone of his voice that he’d just about exhausted himself of arguing over the matter.

“I won’t know ‘til I find out.” Prompto raised his brows and puffed his cheeks out, patting at his thighs before clapping once and hoisting himself up into the back of the trunk.

He turned himself sideways on, sitting down and ducking his head to not catch sight of Gladio, fearing seeing his friend for any longer would threaten a change of heart. But then the Shield was at the rear of the trunk, clutching hold of the deep orange metal and leaning in close.

“You’re worth more than what you are when you’re with him, you know that?” Prompto screwed his eyes shut, shaking the words from his head.

They couldn’t be, they _weren’t_ true.

Prompto couldn’t handle it, a world without Noctis. He’d lived the pain of it once before, when he’d been shoved from the train, when he thought truly and deeply that Noctis hated him. He’d grown from it, realized how wrong he was. He was able to fight until he was with Noctis again and it was that lone thought that had kept him going.

It was different now. How could they expect him to fight for any other reason but for Noctis? Perhaps it was a selfish mentality to have, one that could very well get him killed, but it was the only one that Prompto had. He was pained, he was confused, and above all else he was exhausted. He just didn’t have the fire left inside of him to care about much else. 

“Could you leave Ignis?” Prompto had never brought up the matter of Gladio’s prevalent feelings for the other man before.

It was a secret fondness, one of silent glances and gentle touches that seemed doomed to remain nothing more until the end of days. Prompto knew Gladio would never tell Ignis how he felt. To him the idea of love was something so personal he’d never tell another soul if it could cause some sort of compromise.

Gladio paused for a long while. The vigil had long since passed, and the streets were practically clear; Prompto could hear Gladio’s breath rise and fall, and the wobble in between.

“If it would make me a better person… then yeah I think so.” He didn’t snap back or deny the insinuations. Gladio simply nodded, biting at his lip, and Prompto was envious of his ability to be so sure of himself.

“Noct made me what I am.” Prompto kept his head down as he said it, pulling his legs up tight to his chest. “There’s nothing else.”

Gladio let go at the ignition started, and stood and watched as the truck pulled off from the station, until it disappeared past the fortifications of Lestallum and into the darkness which laid ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if chapter are a little delayed as of now to perhaps once a week, my hours at work are increasing meaning I don't have much free time at all.
> 
> But regardless, I hope you enjoy this update, and the beginning of Ardyn's revelations!

Prompto knew he was dreaming the moment he registered the heat of another body sat beside him. The wind was particularly cool at the higher altitude, proving the drive along Rydielle Ley to be even more uncomfortable then the threat of daemons already had it. But the warmth beside Prompto did little to offer him a sense of reassurance.

“If you’ve got something to say, then say it.” Prompto turned his head to the side to face Ardyn, who sat similarly beside him in the trunk of the car.

It felt rather odd, to stand witness the Chancellor behaving in such a manor. Usually when Prompto found himself within the other man’s company, Ardyn’s posture would glisten with confidence and swagger. It didn’t matter if the man was standing or sitting, he towered above Prompto either way, making the young man feel inferior, at his mercy. But this time Ardyn seemed smaller somehow. He was still larger of course, but the way his body curled inwards, and how his arms remained tucked in neatly at his sides; it all gave Prompto the sense that Ardyn wasn’t entirely positive in his actions.

“You have grown to be quite the stubborn young man.” Ardyn mused, continuing to look ahead towards the disc, only illuminated subtlety by the bright sidelights of the truck that aimed to ward off predators.

“Gee I wonder why.” Prompto caught sight of the two hunters inside of the truck, continuing on in silence and completely unaware of their fourth party member.

Prompto was definitely dreaming, though it was rather curious he should find himself in the same position in which he had fallen asleep.

“So? What are you here for this time?”

“We need to talk.” Prompto gestured flippantly that Ardyn continue when he reminded silent for the better half of a minute. “Not here.” Ardyn’s lips curled upwards into the slightest of grins, “You may perhaps wish to brace yourself.”

“What?” Prompto frowned, but almost as soon as the words left his lips it was too late. Ardyn hooked his arm underneath Prompto’s legs and propelled them upwards with such force that the young man flipped backwards out of the side of the moving truck.

Prompto expected to hit the road in a harsh instant, but somehow he was still falling. He yelled out with an uncharted fright, limbs dispersed as he continued face-forward, plummeting into whatever was below. The expanse of darkness that engulfed Prompto gradually faded into white, until everything radiated with such a light glow Prompto had to close his watering eyes to escape the initial burn.

After what felt like an eternity, Prompto’s body ceased in its cascade downwards. Opening his eyes did he find himself levitating in midair, chest mere inches away from a similarly clear white floor.

“Uft!” And then is body slammed against the ground, nose sorely taking the brunt of the blow. “W-What the hell?” Prompto wheezed, clutching at his reddened nose, pushing himself to sit upwards on the back of his legs.

“I did warn you.” Ardyn stood above him unharmed, smirking puckishly as if he’d just outwitted Prompto in the cleverest of ways.

“This is _my_ dream; you didn’t need to do that!” Prompto grumbled angrily, clambering up to stand. It was a ridiculous trick, one of Ardyn’s most juvenile yet. Prompto shook his head in disbelief, checking his nose- no blood- before adjudging himself upright.

“Well if it is _your_ dream then surely you should have been able to prevent it? Hm?” Ardyn grinned, hands reaching out either side of him.

“Where are we?” Prompto chose to not entertain further torment, instead spinning round on his toes. Everything around him as far as his eyes could see was just an empty space of white, for all he knew it could have gone on forever.

“The diner, as before.”

“But that’s not possible.” Prompto frowned, his back still to Ardyn. He made a step forward, “Where is any of it? It’s all just whi- _offt_!” His chest collided roughly against- _something_.

Prompto reached out his hands, patting at the whiteness in front of him. It was a countertop, only it wasn’t there. Or rather, I was too bright to see with the naked eye. So it was the diner after all; only the suns light was so close this time round that it literally rested on top of Prompto- _maybe_ \- he daren’t question the physics of this dream.   

“It appears a light is drawing closer.” Prompto halted in his exploration of his seemingly invisible surroundings, taken aback by Ardyn’s statement.

“Noct?” Prompto asked desperately, turning back to face the Chancellor.

“A pity really, I’m beginning to enjoy myself.” Ardyn wandered, somehow knowing exactly which way to move as to not crash ungracefully into anything. He found himself at a barstool, sitting down and gesturing Prompto to follow.

 

Why was Ardyn telling Prompto any of this? Why was he so nonchalant about the concept? Was this because of what he had said during their last encounter? Prompto tried to recall the Chancellor’s words exactly; about how he claimed to be a king, and that Noct’s return would somehow ‘free him’.

“So,” Prompto struggled, patting his hands about until he found himself a stool on which to perch, “when Noct gets back… you’ll die?”

“Once that might have been true. Though now I find myself in possession of, shall we say, ‘fresh opportunities’?” This new concept frightened Prompto. Of course it wouldn’t all be simple, he should have guessed Ardyn would have a second plan up his sleeve.

“For years I wished only to be free of the torment of life eternal. Death would bring me that, and only at the hands of Lucis blood would suffice.” Ardyn clapped, eyes widening, “But now things are changing. _Oh_ my dear, have our little games been fun? Have you enjoyed my phantasmal spectacles? And this world, this is but a glimpse of my real power!”

Prompto shuddered at the sight Ardyn’s new ecstatic nature, leaning back as far away as he could. Though almost as soon has his voice had risen, Ardyn’s tone lowered once again. His emotions ever switching, contorting unexpectedly between calm and zealous.

“But I find myself with one more hurdle that must yet be tackled before I may achieve such a feat. I may wield the same power as Noctis, but I lack the faith of the gods at my side.”

“What they denied you?” Prompto referred back to Ardyn’s earlier words.

“I can show them yet.” The Chancellor nodded surely. “I bare the same birthright as Noctis. And when the Astrals truly see what I can do, that is when they will finally grant me the Power of Kings.”

“You think they’re just going to give it to you with Noct still around?” Prompto snorted, spinning on his stool to face Ardyn head-on. “And even if you could show them, you’re not exactly worthy.”

“You misjudge the gods if you believe them to be kind entities.” Ardyn’s words became slow and methodical, and if Prompto was right, perhaps even a little bit mournful. “Most of them care little of the treatment of humans. They only give time to those they deem to already hold great power.”

“I don’t understand, why are you telling me all of this?” Maybe Ardyn _had_ meant to lose his cool with Prompto the way he had the last time. Either that or he had to reevaluate his stance, come after Prompto from a completely new angle.

But why him? Sure, Prompto begrudgingly shared some sort of connection with Ardyn, but he was rubbish at this sort of thing. Ignis was the clever one of the group, and Gladio was more likely to bite back. Honestly half of what Ardyn was saying was evading Prompto entirely. He was confused, it wasn’t adding up. Ardyn wasn’t stupid, Prompto knew that. So why was he giving away his plans? Prompto had seen a bunch of old spy movies, where the villain had the hero cornered, and all hope seemed lost. Then the villain would begin to explain himself, fail terribly in justifying his malicious actions until the hero found his way to escape and destroy the threat entirely. The villain would always loose this way, it was a rookie’s error. Ardyn was clearly no rookie. So why?

“You still haven’t pieced it all together?” Ardyn sighed with displeasure, turning too in order to face Prompto. “I cannot achieve divinity while the Starscouge still burrows deep inside of me. I require a vessel in which to harness the daemonic power so that I may be accepted in the dimension of the crystal.”

“Ugh- jeez-“ Baffled, Prompto hissed and screwed his face up, trying to piece it all together in his head.

“Do try to keep up” Ardyn rolled his eyes and clapped his hands once in Prompto’s face, jolting the younger man up with a shock, “your role isn’t a simple one after all.”

“My role?” The colour drained from Prompto’s face in an instant.

“You shall absorb the Starscourge from me, and carry it forth beside me into a new era of rule.” The words fell from Ardyn’s lips like liquid, so simple, so plain. It wasn’t a question, or even a demand. It was as if Prompto was already destined to perform the task, and escaping from such a fate was out of his control.

He felt sick, recoiling back in an instant and making to stand.

“Your clone form will pass by undetected into the crystal realm, it is there that you shall inherit The Darkness.” Ardyn carried on unfazed as Prompto began to stammer out a string of _‘no_ ’s and _‘what’_ s, shaking his head wildly. “Then I will be free to destroy the line of Lucis and make myself the creator of a brand new assortment of Kings worthy of the Astrals’ acceptance.”

Prompto wanted Ardyn to stop, needed him too. His head throbbed and his throat closed up, threatening to halt his breath.

“Just imagine; generation upon generation of my offspring to rule. And you will be forever at their side.”

“H-how?” Prompto croaked, and when Ardyn followed him in standing, the blond found himself stepping backwards with urgency until his back collided with a wall.

“Why you’ll become immortal of course. Such is the curse of the Starscourge.” Ardyn continued forward until he was close enough that if Prompto breathed too heavily he might have felt Ardyn’s chest against his own, “I told you did I not? You were created to serve me.” He continued to muse, voice delicate but firm.

Ardyn brought a hand up, his fingers felt rough and coarse where they held Prompto’s jaw, and his hot breath seemed to simmer like hot coals at Prompto’s skin.

“The weak Prince will die and serve me you shall, for all eternity.”

“I won’t let this happen, I won’t let you _kill_ Noct-“ Prompto gasped on the breath he held, craning his head in an attempt to shake himself free, “I’ll stay away from him, for the rest of my days if I have to. If you need me in order to succeed, then I’ll just stay away- as far as I can!”

Ardyn leaned in closer, dipping his head until his forehead rested against Prompto’s. Then he closed his eyes, and breathed the young man’s scent in again as he had once before, as if he were some sort of narcotic.

“Oh, but you are drawn to Noctis!” Prompto’s teeth clenched with distaste and struggled some more as Ardyn sung out his words in a fine-tuned melody, “You said it yourself: you are _‘ever at his side’_. You will not stay away, you _can’t_.”

 

 

 

  

*

 

 

 

There was little difference to be found in the terrain of the sandy dirt tracks of Leide and the marshes of Duscae once The Darkness had taken over. Most foliage had dried up and died without the sun’s light as nourishment. It was only as Prompto begun to distinguish some familiar landmarks of the desert landscape that he realized he had successfully crossed the border. He’d been lucky in his first few weeks, nothing too large or too ghastly had made an appearance on the drive up to Alistor Slough. On night two Necromancers had been summoned by the noise, corpses of skeletons beside them. Then there were the Bombs and Cryonades which blocked the South road towards the Nebulawood where Prompto had parted ways with the hunters. But Prompto was still alive and kicking, he was managing, or at least he figured he was. He took the small victories where he could, they were a distraction, and they helped to keep him moving forward.

He’d spent a short period in the company of a band of survivors he found seeking refuge in some of the outer ruins around Costlemark Tower. They were less experienced then most Prompto had encountered, and they had children with them. Prompto helped as best he could; though the rations he had first departed with had dwindled, and he had little to truly offer them. He taught those old enough how to properly maintain the weapons they had with them, and the rest on where to find and how to prepare edible moss and nettles if they were to ever fall short of proper foods. But soon enough they needed to move on, heading for Lestallum to seek the light and refuge. They’d asked Prompto to go with them, but it was too soon. He couldn’t go back, tail between his legs, and he didn’t want to. More than ever Prompto needed answers. He needed to figure out how he could stop Ardyn from killing Noctis, how they could bring an end to the World of Ruin once and for all; the fate of everything and everyone depended on it.

 

Prompto was alone now, had been for at least three weeks. Hell, for all he knew it could have been a month or so. The only measurement Prompto had to go by was the level of which his legs ached from walking. He was too frightened to stop in any one place for longer than the few hours he truly needed to sleep; worried if he made himself too comfortable that he’d never gain the strength to get back up.

It was safe enough; walking on clear and open ground might once have been a dangerous move, but with no natural predators left about the land was practically desolate. It was the formations of rocks and shrouded areas that one had to be careful of. Most daemons favored lurking in hidden areas such as caves, or on harsh or swampy terrain. The vast knowledge Prompto had of dangerous wildlife was helpful, daemons often worked in a similar manner. But there were always the exceptions. Daemons were not of the known world, and more often than not each one was entirely new and troublesomely unpredictable.

 

Prompto managed as best he could through Snulhend Pass. Bussemand and Hobgoblins appeared to most favour these roads. He’d handled worse on his own; though the fatigue was beginning to get the better of him. He recalled clearly the dirt-track road up to the mines, and the haven close by. He could make it without stopping for rest if he was careful, motivated with the hope that some of the old miner’s villas would still have some supplies left inside. But the goal was slowly disintegrating into nothing more than a pipe dream with every trudging step Prompto made. His ribs still ached and back grew sore from carrying around his supplies.

' _If only Noct were around, he’d whip them up into his Armiger in a heartbeat.’_

Prompto had pondered tiredly, rearranging the two bags slung from his shoulders. The ability to summon his most trusted Hyper Magnum pistol and appropriate ammunition was all the power Prompto had left. It was enough, it reminded him that Noctis were alive, in some form at least- he had to be for the power to manifest weapons to still exist. It felt almost like a parting gift in some ways, or better yet, a promise that Noctis was still close. Prompto held the power dear, the ability to defend himself, as if it were Noct himself that was protecting him.

“Dum, da-da dum dum-“ Prompto hummed to himself, praying that keeping up some old tune he only remembered half the lyrics to might be enough to keep his head clear and stop himself from collapsing to the floor with exhaustion.

He’d been critically tracking the movement of a pack of Ziggurats in the area for a little over an hour. They were stronger together, and a group of such dangerous foes was something Prompto very much wanted to avoid. Their markings were obvious for the most part, tracks in the sand, and the slimy residue from their skin could often be found where they had brushed up against rocks and foliage. Prompto made sure to carry on in the opposite direction, though as close as he dared to the road so he didn’t completely loose his way.

Hammerhead was the final destination. As soon as Prompto had left the comfort of Lestallum it was the first place that had sprung to mind. Not that he planned on staying there for long either. The old garage was apparently used now as more of an in-between base for hunters who dared cross the ocean to Accordo, and more frequently by those who took advantage of the decent amount of beans and pulses that still managed to grow on the open desert plains. Prompto hoped he could join one of these closer parties, travel and fight alongside them and keep his head down until Noctis returned.

“Da-da-da dum… ugh whatever.” Prompto kicked at as stone in the dust, only to grow perturbed when he noticed the action resulted in a small laceration at the toe of one of his boots. “Damn it… _‘Prompto, a scruffy shoe is the first sign of a scruffy man’._ ” He mocked the words Ignis had once chastised him with in his youth.

 

Ignis had picked Noctis up from school with Prompto in tow every Friday afternoon, driving the two back to the Citadel where the boys would (pretend to) do their homework, before retiring to Noctis’ chambers for an evening of video games and space movie marathons. Prompto’s school shoes had been in a peculiar state to say the least. Ignis had been rather dumbfounded the day he bared witness to the black sneakers, the left of which sported both a hole at the tip of the big toe, as well as a half-loose sole that flapped up and down with each step Prompto took.

 _“They give me an edge. It’ll be a trend one day- you’ll see!”_ Prompto had joked, refusing Noctis’ multiple offers to buy him a new pair when it had been let slip that his family were struggling to cover the costs of the necessities. The last thing he wanted to be was a charity-case for the Prince.

Turned out that Noctis never had the chance. The next morning when Noctis and Prompto had been called down to the dining room for breakfast, Prompto found a brown box at his usual seat. They were a simple pair, subtle yet smart, shining and fragrant of fresh leather. It wasn’t Noctis’ style at all, and Prompto knew the Prince far too well to know he’d never buy Prompto such a formal set.

 _“Do tell me if they fit well_.” Ignis commented plainly over the slice of bread he lathered with butter. The advisor wouldn’t hear Prompto’s babbling rush of embarrassed ‘thank you’s and ramblings about how he couldn’t possibly accept them. Instead Ignis’ features remained placid, save the small contentment that toyed up at his lips.

 

Prompto’s mind steadied on Ignis. He was perhaps the first ever person to truly nurture Prompto. Of course, he had his parents, and he knew they loved him and would have done all in their small fragments power to make him happy; but they also knew how to give him space to figure things out for himself. Ignis on the other hand, he was always different. From the moment the older man had set eyes on Noctis’ brightly beaming very first friend, it was as if a spark inside of Ignis had ignited with an intense need to make sure Prompto was always at the best he could be. Rather self-indulgently Prompto embraced it, regardless of how he would mock Ignis’ over-protective nature. He loved to feel important enough to be protected, he loved knowing that there were people out there who truthfully cared and wanted him to be happy.

Prompto had always tried to replicate such affection. He was gleeful if it was what his friends wanted for him, and he in turn wanted to pass the same on to them.

But Prompto hadn’t considered trying to make Ignis happy when he left. As a matter of fact, he had hurt him. Prompto recalled clearly how Ignis fumbled and struggled, pleading helplessly for Gladio to stop Prompto from leaving in the way he could not. Prompto made himself clear when he negated giving Ignis so much as a proper goodbye. Even worse was that Ignis was not even mad, he gave Prompto his own supplies, still caring for the younger man even as he abandoned his friends to chase after the truth of his nightmares. Ignis was a better man then he was, always was, and Prompto had left him behind. He was his friend, he cared for him not out of duty but out of a _want_ , and where where so many others had not-

“FUCKKK!” Roared in frustration, swinging both bags at his arms before tossing them into the soil in a dramatic tantrum, “YOU FUCKING IDIOT PROMPTO!” He slapped himself at the face, bright red in aggravation. “GODS!”

Prompto barely recognized how he panted for breath, how his quick burst of rage had sucked up any last piece of energy he had left.

“Well, shit… the hell am I doing?” He croaked horsey as his tense body deflated, “What was I thinking?” Prompto’s eyes fell down towards the bags dusty at the ground. With a sigh he bent down, arm extending to grab for them-

“Stop where you are!” The voice was high and breaking, demanding, yet obviously riddled with fright all the same.

Prompto halted in an instant, bags clutched from the straps and dangling at the floor.

“Woah! Friendly!” The blond snorted, raising his free hand. Some inexperienced survivor no doubt, Prompto had encountered his fair share. They were likely trigger-happy, and shaken up from past daemon encounters.

“I’m not screwing around!” The click of the shotgun’s safety sounded off and Prompto’s face dropped. 

“HEY HEY!” The bag’s in Prompto’s hand slipped from his fingers as he snatched his second hand up the the air in immediate surrender. “Easy now!”

 

Okay, so perhaps this guy was a little more than just shaken up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter turned out a lot longer then I initially planned it to be. Though as I returned to make edits, I found myself adding more and more back story and internal dilemmas for Prompto to consider. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and liked the latest OC's; Mics and Wallace. They will be relevant to future chapters, particularly Mics... 
> 
> Thank you for the support!

“BACON!”

“BACON!” Prompto tossed the crumbs of deep-fried meat over the plate as if it were party confetti.

“HOT SAUCE!” Noctis continued his stream of demands, holding his hand back over his head for his friend to present him with each essential ingredient of their midnight feast fit for gods.

“HOT SAUCE!” The blond supplied with the same level of euphoric eagerness. 

“I think we’re done here.” Noctis leaned back on his hands, crouching down until he was in the direct eye-line of the plate of loaded fries atop the kitchen counter.

Almost synchronously as Prompto began to spend the majority of his free time at the Citadel with Noctis, it had become the usual Friday-night routine for the two high schooler’s to ransack the palace kitchen after hours and experiment with the culinary arts without the scornful gaze of any of the kitchen staff around to judge their shoddy eating habits.

_‘The Bigger The Better’_ was the moto, and sure enough their current invention was one of the ghastliest and most calorie-charged to date. 

“No no, there’s something we’re missing. It doesn’t feel right…” Prompto joined Noctis in crouching down, sizing up their plate of piping hot fries with a keen and critical eye.

“More bacon?” The Prince raised a brow, and a smile etched itself onto Prompto’s face.

“Noct, you’re a certifiable genius.”

Noctis nudged Prompto’s shoulder with his own, and the two fell into a fit of mischievous laughter as they rose up, hands darting forwards towards the tub of diced bacon on the messy worktop.

“Oh good gods-“ Ignis’ voice startled the teen’s out of their skins, and they snapped around, faces painted with guilt and shame as they tried fruitlessly to cover up the evidence of their midnight escapades.

“HEY! You’re up?” Prompto’s voice rose awkwardly, instantly feeling overwhelmed with the sense that he was intruding, regardless of the Prince’s involvement.

“Would you… for crying out loud…” Ignis struggled, adjusting his glasses with a sigh, “the King wishes to speak with us all.”

Noctis gaped and gestured towards the plate of fries, crisp and golden, covered in layers of fatty produce and steaming with heat.

“No time for that.” Ignis was already walking out of the kitchen, pulling the disgruntled Prince out the door by the forearm, “You too, Prompto.”

“Me?!” The blond hurried to keep up, quickly becoming all too aware that he was in fact in his pajamas- his _bad_ pajamas. Beaten and most likely stained tracksuit bottoms, and an oversized shirt from an inter-school baseball tournament some two years prior.

“What does my dad want with all of us?”

“I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it must be important.”

The rushed conversation evaded Prompto, who was far too consumed with attempting to even out his nervously pounding heart rate. Though he still sensed the anxiety in both Noct and Ignis’ voices. The Prince was often troubled by the state of his father’s dwindling health, and to be called upon- unplanned- so late in the evening, it was truly understandable for Noctis to be concerned.

“Oh great you got ‘em.” Gladio pulled himself up from the doorway leading to the throne room, nodding curtly to the two Glaives at either side of the grand doors to open them up, “Wait,” he was quick to stop himself, eyes widening as he caught sight of the teenagers, “what are you- why are you in your jammies?”

“It’s Sleepover Saturday.” Noctis grumbled sheepishly, pulling self-consciously at the rich silk fabric of his own royal sleep attire. 

“You know what? I wish I never asked.” The Shield rolled his eyes before nodding his head down towards Noctis’ open shirt, “Fix yourself up would you?”

Prompto found his eyes following, painfully admitting to himself that he was fascinated by the way Noctis wore his clothes, open and revealing. Prompto swallowed as he looked purposefully for the first time, having been rather distracted by the pangs of his midnight hunger before-hand. The deep blue silk mirrored one of the many opulent oil paintings that hung around the citadel in the way it clung tight against Noctis’ biceps and his thighs, damn him.

As Prompto found himself gawping like a horny pre-teen at his best friend, he soon noticed that Noctis was struggling greatly in the seemingly simple task of doing up the buttons of his night shirt.

“Stupid things-“ Noctis muttered under his breathe, brows knitting in aggravation as his fingers continued to fumble with the buttons.

He was nervous, clearly. He had been for the majority of the weekend in fact; as soon as the news came through that an envoy of The Empire would be making an appearance for negotiations with King Regis. Prompto had tried his upmost to distract the Prince from dwelling on his father’s circumstances; from hitting the arcade and asking Gladio for an extra-long training session, to making food-coma inducing fries at 1am when he knew Noct was struggling to drift to sleep.

The rising panic was unbearable for Prompto to witness, he hated feeling like he couldn’t help. So he tried his best to carry some of the weight, making a step forward towards Noctis and swatting the Prince’s hands away from his own shirt.

“Here give me that!” Prompto fussed, shaking off his own nervous jitters, trying desperately to maintain his composure has he fastened the pajama buttons up evenly.

Prompto bit at the insides of his cheeks as he felt his fingers brush against Noctis’ stomach, just below his belly button. He forced the feeling down, Ignis and Gladio were over his shoulders after all, and he could feel Noctis’ eyes trained on to his hands. A personal mantra reminding Prompto to keep it together repeated over and over inside his head.

“Mr. Argentum, if you have quite finished dressing my son I would like a word with you all.” A slight yelp left Prompto’s mouth as he jolted at the sound of the King’s voice behind him.

King Regis moved expertly, floating on the air with poise and prominence, coattails fanning out behind him as if they were the wings of some great feathered beast.

Prompto was overcome instantly with a sense of inadequacy. He swallowed coarse and licked at his lips, snapping his hands away from Noctis’ shirt and flapping his arms wildly as he tried to explain himself.

“Apologies Your Majesty I would never undress your- _DRESS_! I would never dress your son! I would never- not unless you wanted me to I mean if you orderedmetothenofcourseIwouldIwouldneverquestionyourword-“

The King silenced Prompto with little more than the slight raise of his hand. The blond flailed and coughed on his words, and he felt Gladio pat him at the shoulder reassuringly.

“What’s happening?” Noctis intervened, his face plastered with worry and an eagerness to understand the greater situation.

“It would be best discussed through here; the council will be assembled.” King Regis nodded between the four of them before he instructed the Glaives at the doors to the throne room to call upon the appropriate members of the court.

At the time, Prompto had been far too caught up in his hot flush of embarrassment both over his fumbling with the King, as well as the prospect that he was in fact about to be addressed to by the entire royal court in his second-to-last favorite pair of pajamas. Still bright and youthful- a much naiver version of himself- Prompto had hardly registered the severity of the situation at hand. But he was soon to become aware, and from that moment on his life would change considerably, not that he had any idea at the time.

It was supposed to be a simple mission; escort Noctis to Accordo, see him wed to Lady Lunafreya, enjoy the rest of his life in a compromised peace where he would try his best to endure the presence of Niflheim forces at his doorstep. Prompto didn’t know that once he waved goodbye and left through the gates of Insomnia that he would never be able to return in the same way again. He’d never see his school friends again, or those at the Glaives barracks, worse yet his mother and father. He wished often that he had hugged them both a little tighter that last time round.

Prompto had many regrets, shying away from learning his identity for so long, spending years hating the way he looked and trying to change himself to make others happy. Perhaps all those years ago; if he had been just that little bit wiser, focused on the bigger picture instead of his own insecurities, if he has made a little more effort to be serious and take in the world around him- things could have been different. Perhaps he would have known back then- as he followed behind the footsteps of the King, the Prince, and his escorts- that leaving the comfort and sanctuary of the Crown City would not be such a simple endeavor after all. Instead he had focused only on Noctis’ silk buttons, and how they felt in his fingertips, as if that were the most important thing on the planet.  

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

  

Prompto squinted to make out the features of the man behind the shotgun. He was small from what Prompto could tell, and a hell of a lot younger than he ought to be to have hold of such a weapon.

“Easy now kid I think this one is safe.” A second voice rang through, and a slightly older man stepped forward, pushing the gun gently down to the floor before continuing forward towards Prompto.

The man’s hair was long and thin, a dirty blond threaded with silver that he wore up and pushed away from his face with a bandana. “Sorry about that mate, the area has been swarming with Ronin, you know those bastards look pretty human-like in the shadows?”

The stranger grinned, the long and thin features of his face, though obviously strained, somehow still managed to glow, mischievous and fox-like in a manner which made Prompto begin the feel at ease. The man reached down and collected Prompto’s bags, handing them back.

The camaraderie was cut short however, and a third stranger, a woman spoke up. Besides the dust and grime, her pale skin was particularly clear. Her hair dark and short, seemingly healthy; she must have been a similar age to Prompto, give or take a few years depending on how kind they had been to her.

“Why are you out here alone?” She was defensive, clutch stubbornly tight on the rifle in her hands.

“Give the poor guy a break won’t you? Tally did just shove a gun in his face!” The older man tried to defuse, clasping Prompto at the shoulder and pulling him towards his small group. “You can call me Mics, and this bundle of joy over here is my sister-in-law, Wallace.” He gestured towards the woman, who frowned even as she managed a short greeting.

Prompto was dejected from her flippancy and apparent distaste for him however, far too enticed by the third and final party member who stood before him. The boy was unsure, lips slightly parted and brows raised; it had been years after all.

“ _Talcott?_ ” Prompto gasped, hurrying forward and beaming, though his thoughts were still frantic. “It’s really you!”

“You two know each other?” Prompto ignored Mics.

“I thought you were with Dustin? Iris was supposed to be coming to meet the two of you? Wait, is Iris okay? Where is she?-“

“She’s fine.” Prompto relaxed, slightly taken aback by how different the young boy sounded in his maturity.

Talcott’s body had grown lanky and awkward, though a protective layer of muscle had built up at his broadening shoulders. His hair was a little too long, peeking out in curls from underneath the cap he wore.

“Miss Iris made it to Hammerhead a couple of months back, she got in touch with her brother right?”

“Right- yeah-“ Prompto recalled, scratching at his head. “She still there?”

“You just missed her. Her and Dustin are headed back up to Lestallum now, with Cid.”

“Cid?”

“Yes sir. The old guy isn’t as sprightly as he once was. Whole foods are scarce in these parts, and he needed better medicine.”

Prompto gawped as Talcott continued to explain. It felt alien to imagine the garage up and running without Cid around; leaning back in his chair and complaining about anything and everything, chastising Noctis for every little thing he would do.

“I can’t believe he left the garage…”

“Not of his own free will, I’ll tell you that much. It’s taken Miss Cindy years to get the stubborn goat to see sense.” Talcott laughed softly, fiddling scratch marks of the gun in his hands.

Prompto noticed how the weapon seemed larger than the boy. What a world they lived in that someone Prompto had known to be so innocent and kind had to defend himself in such a way.

“I can’t believe how long it’s been…” Prompto’s jaw tensed, and he shuddered on a breath.  “How old are you now?”

“Fifteen, sir.”

Prompto winced, eyes casting to the floor, somehow ashamed.

“Damn…”

“Hate to break up the small-talk,” Mics pulled Prompto out of his melancholy, taking up one of the blonde’s bags and slinging it over his shoulder, “but it’s not safe for us to just stand out here much longer. We’ve just about finished patrol, there is a safe haven not too far from here. We can head back to Hammerhead after some rest.”

Now _that_ sounded like a plan Prompto could get behind. He allowed himself to be lead away by Talcott and his new company, continuing to let the young boy divulge at least seven years’ worth of personal gossip, growing warm and comforted by the gentle and familiar company.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

As Mics and Wallace made work of lighting a fire and preparing the four of them some supper; they allowed Prompto and Talcott the privacy to reminisce about the old days.

Prompto had managed to coax the young teen into letting him tackle his shambles of a haircut with loose claims that he knew what he was doing because he’d watched Ignis cut Noctis’ hair enough times on the road.

Talcott tensed where he sat, back to Prompto and legs crossed at the floor. Noctis’ name rolled off Prompto’s tongue without much thought, though he was aware he did often speak as if the Prince was still around.

“Are you… okay?” Talcott played with his thumbs in his lap, unaware of what sort of verbal boundaries surrounded talk of Noctis. His head dropped low as Prompto started to brush back the hair hanging over the boy’s ears.

“I’m fine.” Prompto started, “I mean… I’m fine.” That was about all he could manage.

“And the others?”

“I reckon Monica is beginning to hate Lestallum more than I do.” Prompto smirked, reaching down into his bag and sourcing out a pair of scissors he kept handy for anything from trap making to medical emergencies.

“Ignis is…” Prompto paused, strands of Talcott’s hair between his fingers, scissors ready and open. The blond swallowed, recalling his previous outburst over the terms on which he parted with Ignis. Best to avoid that subject.

“Well… I mean, Gladio is doing-“ And Gladio was angry and disappointed in Prompto the last he saw of him. Talcott grew up on the Amicitia estate, always having looked up to Gladio, he was practically the boy’s hero. Prompto couldn’t bear the thought of telling Talcott the whole truth just yet; he was ashamed of it enough himself already.

“I’m not exactly selling it here am I?” Prompto sighed, exhausted, snipping away at the first obviously overgrown locks of hair.

“You don’t have to talk about it, I get it.” Prompto praised the gods silently before Talcott continued, “But what about Prince Noctis, aren’t you guys supposed to stick together for him?”

“Exactly. We have… conflicting opinions on the matter.” Prompto tried to turn down the conversation, or better yet, allow it to move in a different direction. Hopefully towards a topic that was easier for him to digest.

“Well I may not know all what’s happening right now,” Talcott hummed, eyes focused on watching his hair as it fell in front of his eyes and onto his lap. “But one things for sure; you three are supposed to stand together, beside the Prince. Not seeing you all side by side… it just ain’t right, sir.”

“What’s with the _‘sir’_?” Prompto shook his head, laughing softly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Dustin has been trying his best to keep my vocabulary proper, ‘specially with people like Miss Cindy and Mics around.” Talcott nodded towards the man squatted down besides the fire.

“Hey, my voice is perfectly fine I’ll have you know, cheeky bugger…” Mics turned at the mention of his name, jabbing out the stick he was using to prod the fire towards Talcott, a fake menace written across his face.

 

Prompto saw how circumstance had changed Talcott. It was as painful as it was unnecessary. He was still a child, and at such a young age he had to watch his city burn and his family killed. Every fraction of light in his life was being snuffed out once at a time until all that was left was black. Talcott didn’t deserve this, no one did. Yet somehow he was still standing. How? How- when Prompto barely had the strength in him to hold his gun upright- did this young boy manage to keep a smile on his face?

“Shit.” Prompto gasped, scissors falling slack in his grip.

“What did you do?” Talcott’s squeaked and his hands shot to the back of his head.

“No! No…I’m just, sorry. That’s all.”

“What do you mean?” Talcott turned around on the floor to face Prompto, head tilting in confusion.

“Ignis, Gladio and I; we weren’t here when the Starscourge took over. Hell, it took us long enough to make it out of Niflheim.”

Prompto shuddered at the remembrance. It had been months of trudging through the snow, battling the daemons that appeared in masses. Ignis was barely used to living without his sight, and Gladio had almost died once. frostbite at his toes got infected, spreading the nerve damage up the course of one of his legs. He had been incapacitated for days, Ignis and Prompto forced to drag the larger man through the snow to find any shelter and medicine they could salvage. Prompto barely had the time to recognize how much of a mess his was for having lost Noctis. He often didn’t register how he quaked and sobbed. Tears fell thick and full, freezing at his cheeks while he pushed on, one foot forward at a time, pulling both men along behind him until they found a Magitek dropship functioning well enough to carry them back over the sea.

“When we got back, we- I- was so caught up with loosing Noct and-“ Prompto clenched his jaw, shaking his head and screwing his eyes closed tight.

“It’s really okay.” Talcott tried to calm the older man, but his efforts were in vain.

“I should have tried harder to help you.” Prompto hissed, fingernails digging tight into his knees. “Iris has never had to rely on Gladio to be there for her, she’s strong enough on her own. But _you_ , we made a promise amongst ourselves- for Jarred- that we’d protect you. Instead I’ve been so focused on saving my own skin… fuck I can’t do anything right.”

With a frustrated groan, Prompto threw his head back, running his hands through his hair as he carried on, trying to relax his high emotions.

“Now look at you, you’ve had to grow up on your own. I didn’t want that for you, the way I had to deal with things.”

“You saying I ain’t capable of looking after myself?” Talcott quipped, daring a smirk as he stretched out his legs, playfully kicking Prompto’s foot with his own.

"You were like, the size of a Cactuar the last time I saw you.” Prompto allowed himself to relax, stretching back to lean on his forearms.

“Growth spurts.” The boy mused before his tone softened, and he offered Prompto his upmost honesty, “But you know I could have headed up to Lestallum with Iris or Dustin or Monica whenever, right? You never abandoned me or anything. I like it in Hammerhead anyways, we’ve built up a nice little community. I feel useful there.”

Prompto shifted his gaze back towards Mics and Wallace, who appeared to be deep in a heated conversation as Wallace harshly prodded at the broth boiling from the pan atop the fire and Mics hawked observantly over her shoulder. He reached down and patted once at Wallace’s head and she snapped up with a jolt, swatting away the older man’s hand before smacking at his arm and sending him away.

“Yeah, why are you with these guys?” Prompto turned back to Talcott, gesturing the boy to turn back around so he could actually finish trimming his hair.

“Mics and Wallace were some of the only ones who made it out of Galdin Quay when the first wave of daemons came through. They were from a liquor trading background in Southern Accordo I think; doing some trades in Leide when they got stuck here.” Prompto nodded thoughtfully, though he knew Talcott couldn’t see.

The two seemed harmless enough, though Prompto was rather curious how a pair of liquor traders came to grips with the weapons in their hands. They had to be half decent to have survived this long outside of the cities.

“They made a new life as best they could instead of risking the journey back.” Talcott spoke with a refined grace that made it impossible not to see that he obviously admired the two as his elders.

Prompto hoped to know them better, that it would give him the comfort to know Talcott had been left in good hands. But age and circumstance had made Prompto wary of strangers. And he was not naïve, he could sense both Mics and Wallace were engulfed by the same unease. He saw in the corner of his eye how they’d watch him when they thought he wasn’t looking, how they would keep their weapons close and themselves as far as they could. Prompto didn’t need to be their friend but he needed their trust. He was weak and exhausted, and it had been years since Prompto had been in the area, the landscape had reformed and decayed since he’d last seen it. He’d need all the help he could get if he were to make it to Hammerhead in one piece.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Wallace had suggested the band of four retire for a restful sleep immediately after supper. Under the protection of the Oracle’s power, there was no need for anyone to stay up and keep watch with all daemons repelled from the area. Sleep had come far too easily for Prompto. He was so eager to hit the hay in fact; he was rather disappointed in himself for lacking any sort of caution against the two strangers in his company.

Survivors were not always friendly souls after all. Some were angry and bitter for what they had lost and what the world had become. That rage and sadness could easily turn into greed; it was not unheard of for other survivors to wake up alone with all their supplies stolen from them. Or worse yet, be left to rot away in their sleeping bag, throat cut.

Though the fear of a quick and rather anti-climactic death was sorely outweighed by the desperate need for a peaceful night of rest, free from Ardyn’s torment. Prompto had discovered that, although the Chancellor did not invade Prompto’s mind every time he slept- either with frightful images of past encounters, alternate realities in which he was trapped within a Magitek Exo-suit, or even coming to visit the young man himself- one place he would never appear for certain was when Prompto found rest at a camp haven. The power of the Oracle outmatched Ardyn’s demonic games, Prompto could not be touched by him here.

So when Prompto awoke with a jolt as he felt his body shook at his arm, his mood instantly soured the moment he caught sight of Mics hovering above him.

“Yo! Prompto, right? Heard Tally say you’re a bit of a sharpshooter.” Mic’s fell back onto his legs and watched as Prompto wearily rubbed at his tired eyes, surveying the area to make sure all was well. “There’s Ziggrat scatter about.”

“You woke me up to tell me about some shit you found lying around?” Prompto yawned, begrudgingly pushing himself up to sit.

“They’re close. Listen, I know the general consensus is to avoid conflict where possible, but it’s more dangerous to leave daemons hanging around these parts.” Mics tone grew serious, and he readjusted the two machetes on his back as he stood, poised and ready. “Our job on patrol is to make sure nothing gets too close to Hammerhead; being efficient is the only safety net we have, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.” Everything in Prompto’s body screamed at him to go back to sleep. His limbs would be groaning if they had their own voice. He was down-right exhausted, and now this stranger had the nerve to call him a child, Mics knew damn well Prompto was far from being a teenager any more.

“Fine, _‘soft-featured adult’_ , you gonna help me clear them out or not?” Prompto contemplated the offer a moment.

What if he just said no? Would Mics decide he was useless and banish him from the group in an instant? What would that mean for Talcott? Prompto couldn’t just leave the boy behind now, not after almost seven years apart. Even more pressingly, Prompto still needed to get to Hammerhead, hopefully stay there a while if he was accepted. That wouldn’t happen if he made a bad impression on the residents before he even got there.

That in mind, Prompto sucked up his flippancy and gave Mics a sharp nod as the rose, shaking out his limbs in an attempt to fully wake himself up.

“You’ve got a weapon, right?” Mics cocked a brow, scanning Prompto up and down. The blond had never needed to carry so much as a utility belt around with him, he had no swords on hand, or a shotgun at his back.

“You’re still sizing me up really, aren’t you?” Prompto ignored the question, smirking as the pair climbed their way down from the rocks of the haven and off into the sandy flatlands ahead.

“I don’t know who you are. Tally might; but he’s fifteen and has action figures on his bedside. He tends to see the best in people.”

The two carried on in silence only for a little while. It didn’t take long before Prompto too caught sight of the markings and scatter Mics had found. The trail lead North-West, towards a small cluster of tall rocks, thin and withered tree branches tangled between them.

“Need proof that I’m useful, huh?” Prompto whispered as he crouched low. He took off ahead of Mics, moving swiftly, careful not to make a sound as he pushed away at the shrubs around his ankles until he found a clear vantage point behind a boulder at the edge of the formation of rocks.

Nestled within the compound of stones were two Ziggrats, biting and hissing at one another as they clawed away at the shell carcass of a Reapertail. Prompto felt Mics close behind him, who reached up in an attempt to brandish his blades. However, before the older man had the chance, Prompto summoned his pistol into his hand in a bright spark of blue light. He pushed up on one hand and barreled over the rock, firing once before his feet even touched the ground. The shot struck point blank in the first beast’s forehead, who squawked and doubled backwards before disintegrating in a mass of purple smoke. Prompto sensed the second as it charged forwards behind him, and the blond spun round on his heels, tucking tight into a forward role out of the daemon’s away before he fired again, twice, the first snagging the beasts arm, then critically against its breastplate.

Swiftly Prompto stood once it was over, whipping at his forehead with the back of his hand and dissolving his gun away back into the Armiger.

“That proof enough for you?” He asked with a sharp pant, grin toying at his lips as he watched how Mics mouth hung loose, eyes wide.

“Who the hell are you?” The older man choked on his words, shaking his head with disbelief.

“I’m from Insomnia. I left before it fell… in the company of Prince Noctis-“

“Well fuck me, you’re Crownsguard?” Mics cut Prompto off, slapping himself against the forehead and cursing with a deep groan, “And here I am asking you to track shit with me, damn.”

“Monica and Dustin were both my higher-ups, I’m not that special.”

“Wait, you’re telling me those guys were Crownsguard _too_?” Prompto’s frown softened as he contemplated the notion.

It made sense he supposed, for neither Monica or Dustin to reveal their identities. It was wise to keep quiet, sharp ears were a constant threat. Not only would their identities be a danger to themselves, but to those innocent around them too. If there were Niff soldiers patrolling about who were loyal to Ardyn, gods know what they would do if they were to capture and Lucian subjects or Noctis sympathizes.

“Jeez, I knew the lot of them were from Insomnia, but not that. You’re gonna tell me Tally is some sort of epic super solider now too, right?” Mics joked, making quick work of surveying the rock clearing before gesturing they should return to camp.

“Aha, no, Talcott… his grandfather was a servant of House Amicitia, a trusted friend of King Regis’ chief council member.” Prompto thought little of maintaining the boy’s anonymity. Talcott had said himself, he had been in the company of this man since the beginning of The Darkness, he had plenty of chance to turn him in if he knew he was a Lucian.

After witnessing Prompto’s stunt in summoning his pistol; by association alone Mics would be clever enough to put two-and-two together and realize Talcott wasn’t just any old kid. And in an odd way Prompto felt as if he could trust Mics. The older man radiated with a wisdom rather new to Prompto. He wasn’t any sort of genius, and from the cautiousness at which he attempted to brandish his blades against the daemons, he was clearly not a natural-born fighter. But yet still he was alive, somehow. He appeared to hold a strength inside of him, one that Prompto could respect. And unlike most survivors he had met, Mics and Wallace were not so quick to accept Prompto amongst them, they clearly had some sense about them.

“So the young King, he’s really gone?” Prompto’s body seized up at the mention of Noctis, even more so at the use of the title.

“King?”

“Well… he is, right? His father passed, that makes him his successor, don’t it?” Prompto knew it to be true, though the words felt foreign at his lips.

 

The last time Prompto had seen Noctis, he was still just a young man. _Too young_ to be King, he had thought. Everything that had happened after the fall of Insomnia came barreling in at a whirlwind pace, Prompto barely had chance to keep up. To Prompto, Noctis was the boy he had seen grow from afar, until finally he had found the courage to step forward and be close to him. From then on all Prompto could see was Noctis’ true and personal innocence. He knew the boy whose eyes would light up in the arcade when he beat his own high score. He knew the boy who loved to fish, the one who fussed and refused to eat his vegetables. He knew the boy who would reach out his foot beneath the bedsheets, just so he could feel Prompto close beside him.

Prompto struggled to grasp how much time had passed. He felt in in his body, how his bones ached, how he had finally grown into his skin. But still he could hardly believe it. Would Noctis even be the same person when he returned? The same person Prompto had known?

“Yeah…” Prompto swallowed, “I suppose it does.” He turned to face Mics, straightening himself up in an effort not to let the other man see his composure crumble, “And he’ll be back.”

“I bloody well hope so… if what they say about him is true.” Mics smiled and bit his lip, casting his eyes to the floor, “It seems your Prince touched a lot of people while he was here. They still have faith in him.”

Prompto knew his own motivations were somewhat selfish. What drove him to stay alive and what made him willing to fight. He wanted Noctis to return. But he didn’t need Noctis to be a King or any sort of savior. All he really wanted was _his_ Noctis back.

Perhaps that was Prompto’s problem, perhaps that was why he found life within Lestallum so damn difficult. It was a shanty town of people who all prayed to the gods for some miracle to come and free them from The Darkness. They didn’t know Noctis, the person he truly was, the one from Prompto’s memories and his photographs. They didn’t want the dorky young man Prompto adored to return, they wanted someone all-powerful, someone who would save them. And who was Prompto to blame them? Any sensible person would wish for the same. Regardless of how he was raised, a common boy with no wealthy ties, he felt dethatched from the masses.

Prompto believed in his heart Noctis had the strength and the will to make a true king. He knew that was why he would return, to fulfill his duties and rescue his people from the hell that engulfed them. But when Prompto prayed every night for his return, he knew truly that he didn’t plead for a savior or a ruler like everybody else. As much as he could cruelly chastise Ignis and Gladio for being unfaithful and finding other priorities besides of Noctis, or ignore Aranea’s reprimands that he was sitting around and waiting for Noctis to come and save the day for him; he knew that he was a fraud of his own preaching.

 

Prompto shook his anxieties from his mind; pinning it all down to the exhaustion taking over and causing him to doubt himself.

“So… you said Wallace is your in-law? You have much family between you?” The blond decided to turn his attention towards Mics as the two proceeded back to camp.

The man was very much a stranger still, regardless of how comfortable Prompto found he was quickly becoming in his company.

“Who knows anymore. Only three of us came over in the first place, Wallace and me, and my brother, Luke.” Mics hesitated for a moment, and Prompto cast his eyes down, catching the man’s fists clench tight.

“He caught pneumonia around the second year, he couldn’t fight it. To tell you the honest truth, the memory of him is about the only thing keeping Wallace and I together anymore. She might not be blood, but Wallace was my baby brother’s missus. She’s the only family I’ve got left.” Prompto felt guilty for having brought the matter up, though he supposed it was healthy for the two of them to open up to one another if they were to work together.

“What about you, you got anyone? Wife, kids?” Mics was quick to mask his melancholy.

“Aha, no… no, just me.”

“Handsome man like you?” Prompto jolted as Mics playfully shoved at his shoulder.

“Eternal Darkness isn’t the easiest place to pick up chicks.” The blond snorted, shoving the man back.

“I dunno, isn’t sitting under the stars supposed to be romantic?” Prompto felt Mics stop beside him, and when he turned he found the older man looking upwards, towards the blackness of the sky.

The crescent moon sat unnaturally peaceful in the sky above. Prompto wondered how it could still appear so beautiful, despite how it cast down on a world of carnage and destruction below.

Prompto saw too, how the moon’s glow reflected within Mics wide, grey eyes. The seemed to sparkle with a bright energy, abnormally so. Prompto had grown so used to looking into eyes which spoke of nothing of pain and loss and of faded joy. To see ones so large and full of wonder still, it enlightened him with a comfort he had not felt in a very long while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter took so long to get out! I've had to take on a lot of extra hours at work recently, which left me with basically no free time to write. I only have a week left of work to go though, and once thats out of the way I'll be available to post more frequently, thankfully! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this small update, Wallace is an oc I'm excited to delve into to more in future chapters (as well as Mics), thank you for the support!

The car fog lights that hung from every high telephone pole and roof guttering around the service station radiated Hammerhead with a clinical and sterile glow that reminded Prompto of an operating theatre. The grounds were littered with heavy-breathing bodies, hunters making rest and replenishing their supplies before they were to venture off back out into the wilderness. Much like the rest of the world, Hammerhead now emitted with the heavy stench of death, and its inhabitance lacked the emotional stability to keep hold of any sort of positive outlook on life. Prompto found himself sighing upon the approach. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected. Though he knew full-well the once welcoming safe-haven would no longer radiate with the same warm affection; the thought that Hammerhead might still succeed in providing Prompto with a little mundane serenity was about the only thing that kept him upright during his venture down to Leide.

As the four travelers approached the gate, Mics was fast to calm the rising tensions of the hunters on duty, who both eyed up Prompto with a troubled skepticism he could only account to be the result of previous dangerous encounters with new faces.

“Easy fellas, the new guy is with us.” Mics hushed with a lift of his hand, and though the two hunters lowered their weapons, they made no attempt to open up the reinforced metal gates.

Prompto’s attention drifted from the conversation as he continued to peer through the fence. The presence of the new bodies slowly gathered the attention of the residence inside the fortifications of Hammerhead. Hunters and families, men, women and children emerged from their tents and whispered amongst themselves; eying Prompto up cautiously.

“Is Cindy about?” Prompto chewed on his lip, continuing to scan the crowed, failing to catch sight of any familiar blond curls.

“What’s it to you?” One of the guards was quick to defend, voice gruff and nose turned up.

“I’m a friend.” Prompto tried his best to retain his composure, though his patience was wearing thin.

He couldn’t cause any sort of scene now, not if he wanted to be welcomed with open arms. Though admittedly he had exhausted himself from his journey thus far, and the recent fad of people pointing guns in his face was wearing fast-thin. He wanted a wash. He wanted to sleep some more, preferably indoors for once. And he really wanted to see Cindy; just the memory alone of her eccentric spunk and kind-naturedness etched a bashful pink tint into Prompto’s cheeks.

“And what _friend_ would that be?” The second hunter snorted, quick to shut down Mics’ peaceful attempts of intervening.

“You could tell her yourself that Prince Noctis’ right hand man is back in town, if you’d like?” Prompto bared his teeth as he grinned. “Or you can turn away a member of the Crownsguard. One with an endless supply of ammunition and enough fighting experience to outweigh every single person inside those gates. Your choice.”

Talcott struggled to contain the laugh that burst at his lips in a bubbly rasp. Both sets of eyes on Prompto’s were now wide and disbelieving; and it wasn’t long until the gates opened for him after that.

 

 

“Well I’ll be darned.”

As he caught sight, Prompto decided in an instant that Cindy must have never aged a single day. Her hair was longer now, tied back in a knot under her old cap, and she’d toned down the usual vibrant colour from her wardrobe, buried instead beneath the warmth of thick leathers and dusty cargo pants much like every other survivor littered about the place.

“It’s uh-“ Prompto struggled with a shake of his head, seemingly frozen in his stance at the doors of the Hammerhead Diner. “It’s great to see you.”

“It sure is!” Cindy moved swift, shoving the clipboard in her hands down atop one of the crates of weapons and supplies scattered about her feet. “Fancy seeing you again, Mr. Cameraman.”

Soon enough she was on top of Prompto, her arms tight at his neck and her warmth encapsulating him. The greeting was swift and before Prompto had completely registered Cindy had even hugged him at all, she was away and moving. Prompto’s arms hovered up only a moment before he shook himself out of his flustered trance and followed behind her.

“Are you well?” He tried, eyes following Cindy’s movements as she reached up and down between boxes, organizing supplies and pointing and muttering small commands to nearby hunters, then making markings and alterations on her clipboard once again.

“Tuckering on as best we can over here.” She laughed softly through a swift breath. “Where are the others at?”

“They- um… they’re okay. But… it’s just me.” Prompto looked about, finding a seat down atop one of the crates.

Cindy stopped instantly in her tracks, her face filled with a saddened but understanding pity.

“Is that alright?” Prompto asked nervously, though thankfully Cindy made quick work of her sensitivity towards the young man’s charity case.

Cindy nodded slightly, forcing herself to smile.

“Yeah. Yeah of course it is. Here, lemmie show you your quarters.” She pulled Prompto up and ushered him out the door of the diner, still holding on to his hand.

Prompto looked about nervously at glancing eyes and swallowed as Cindy tugged him up the steps into the old caravan in the parking lot just outside the diner.

It was a rarity to see one of the campers still intact after the past seven years. Ransacking and daemons’ own destruction had rendered most unsafe to use as shelter. The caravans were unlike any safe havens out in the wilderness, they lacked the Oracle’s power to protect them from outside threats. Prompto realized now that perhaps that was why Ardyn had been so insistent on staying away from campsites when he was travelling with Prompto and the others. He couldn’t reveal the daemon half of himself back then, and Luna’s power would have sure enough prevented him from getting as close as he had if she had only known.

Without the power to the lights around gas stations and laybys, it was simply not safe enough to make digs and be merry like it had been those years before. Prompto recalled how he and the others would sit around outside of this very same caravan when they made stops at Hammerhead, playing games on their phone and sipping Ebony as the sun set behind the rocky hills ahead. He recognized what used to be his usual bunk, left side, closest to the door. He recognized Noct’s, directly above him.

“This bed here is free if it suits ya.” The sound of Cindy’s voice drew Prompto’s gaze away from Noctis’ old bunk, and he turned around to find Cindy gesturing towards the bottom bunk at the opposite side. That was where Gladio used to sleep.

“The caravan is mainly used for medical storage, and we have a few regular hunting parties makin their rounds who take the other beds. But besides from that, place is all yurs.”

Prompto’s eyes cast along the bed. It was properly made, thin sheet tucked in neatly at the corners without crease. Everything appeared uniform and correct at first glance; that was until Prompto looked closer. There was mark against the small patch of beige floral wallpaper under the bunk, blotched like a birthmark, about the size of a grapefruit. The stain appeared faded not with time but with force, as if someone had rubbed relentlessly at the mark in efforts to remove it.

Prompto’s fingers reached out not quite close enough to touch, until Cindy interrupted, voice meek and broken.

“Oh… that, uh. Takka, from the diner. This used to be his bed.”  Prompto’s eyes cast down in a sudden understanding, his hand falling with a limp thud at his side.

“After it all got dark, he couldn’t get back home to his wife and young’ens. It was insanity. People were dying all round. If you weren’t fighting off daemons you were fighting off each other. Everyone was desperate to survive, would do anythin’ they could to get their hands on weapons or medicine or food.”

Cindy’s words fell from her lips harsh and guttural. Her head shook slightly as she spoke, eyes fixed and unblinking towards the mark at the wall. Prompto watched her as she spoke, the way her fists clenched tight, whole body vibrating with a defeated anguish.

“He and some hunters managed to fight their way to his village but by the time they got there it was already too late. Poor guy held up as best he could for a few years. But livin’ like this… it just wasn’t for him. Put his own pistol in his mouth when no one was round lookin.’.” Cindy collapsed back. Her body fell loose against the wall behind her, and head dropped to the floor.

“Paw didn’t speak for days after we found the body. He was a friend… a god man…”

Prompto found he was unable to respond for a long while after that. What could he possibly say to make any of this better? Apologies would be fruitless; they wouldn’t be able to make any of the terrible things that happened go away. Instead he simply watched Cindy as she regained her composure, rubbing her hands across her face and easing her breathes.

“…Sorry.” Cindy attempted to smile, pushing herself up from the wall and making her way over to the door of the caravan. “I’ll give you some time to settle. We discuss hunting rotations at 9 sharp-“

“Cindy.” Prompto cut through, dropping his bags at the floor and closing the gap between the two of them in one swift movement.

He reached his arms around her just below the shoulders, pulling her in tight. The embrace was somewhat awkward, and Prompto- in a mixture of exhausted delirium and his own acute sadness- thought little of how holding Cindy so close would have been nothing but a whimsical fantasy for his hormonally infused younger self.

“He’s gonna come back.” Prompto swore, “He’s gonna make it all better.”

Cindy’s hands clutched at the fabric of Prompto’s jacket as she spoke, and he felt her nod into his shoulder, affirmative and trusting.

“Yeah, I believe it.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“You nervous?” Prompto pressed his palms down against the railing of the balcony, pushing himself up slightly off the floor and swinging his legs back and forth.

“That easy to tell?” Noctis scoffed with a laugh, looking out towards the vast expanse of lights ahead, how they reflected in hues of warm oranges across the waters surrounding Altissia.

The hour was not too late, and the city below still radiated with an eccentric vibrancy. The soft strokes of a humble and reserved violin outside the restaurant directly across the street was most prominent, the chatter and laughter of locals amongst the kick of forks and chime of wine glasses too. Gladio and Ignis were amongst them somewhere, proclaiming they were in need of a drink to ready themselves for the events to come.

Prompto set himself down and turned, resting his back against the railing and craning his head to the side to study Noctis’ face. The Prince’s features were plastered wearily with a troubled urgency. Prompto knew how Noct hated to wait around; and his desperation to get their mission over and done with was rising with each passing hour. Tomorrow morning it would happen; Luna would make her address then, her promise to the Altissian people that the Starscourge would be irradiated, and that in efforts to do so, she would call upon the Hydraean, and that would be Noctis’ chance to form the pact.

“It’s kind of ironic isn’t it?” Noctis sighed, slouching onto his forearms. “All those people down there are going to lose their home tomorrow, just like we did.”

“Well, I mean, this is sort of for the greater-good or whatever. I think they’ll get over it in the long run.” Prompto quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“If I can do it that is.”

The blond bit at his lip dubiously, unsure of how to continue. He hated that Noctis doubted himself, that he was so unsure of the power he possessed, the same one that fascinated Prompto and breathed life into him.

“Hey.” Prompto decided quick, darting swiftly back inside the hotel room, only to emerge moments late with a brown paper bag in tow. “I got something for you. I was planning on holding on to it for a while longer, but I suppose if you’re meeting up with an ethereal Goddess of the sea tomorrow, you may as well do it in your Sunday best.”

Noctis raised a brow, reaching out and taking the bag from Prompto and dipping his hand inside, pulling out the jacket and opening it up in front of him. The Prince’s mouth fixed open slightly, pupils widening as he twisted the fabric around, studying the jacket at every angle.

“I picked it up yesterday while you were fishing. I, uh, hope it fits.” Prompto carried on nervously, dumbing his fingers relentlessly against the metal railing as he waited for Noctis to say something. “Do you like it?”

The Prince stayed silent a moment longer as he brushed his fingertips over the vibrant blue embroidery at the back of the jacket.

“I love it.” Noctis whispered, shaking his head and shrugging off the black denim at his shoulders and swapping it out for the fresh jacket. He reached out and wiggled his arms, and twisted his body to catch sight of the Behemoth sigil across his back. It was a perfect fit.

“You do?” Prompto grinned brightly, pulling himself off the balcony railing excitedly.

“Yes, yes its awesome.” Noctis spoke louder now, his own mouth widening with an elevated smile.

He stepped closer, grabbing Prompto by the wrist and pulling him in close, his second hand skirting around to rest at the small of his back.

“Thank you, Prompto.”

“My pleasure.” Prompto laughed softly into the curve where Noctis’ neck met his shoulder, kissing once tenderly at the warmth of skin there. “Though you should expect nothing less from the Number One present giver _ever_.”

“Yeah, alright.” Noctis smirked, pushing Prompto away just far enough to look him in the eye. “Nothing like being humble, huh?”

“-And the best boyfriend in all of Eos.”

“Give me a break.” Prompto stifled a laugh as Noctis rolled his eyes, swaying the two of them gently.

“Amuse me, would you?” Prompto’s hands found their way to Noct’s chest, resting his palms flat. “At least, you know… pretend I’m half-decent. Make me feel like I’m not completely out of my league with you.”

He tried to laugh the comment off, though the reality of it troubled him. Prompto closed his eyes and let his fingers close tight, grasping on to the fabric of Noctis’ jacket, just wanting the Prince all to himself, if only for a little while longer.

This was their last night after all, before Prompto would have to share him. Not with Luna, not anything of the sort. But with the rest of the world. In forming a pact with Leviathan, Noctis would be telling the world that he was in fact still alive, and worthy of his ascension. King Regis’ entire life was bombarded with responsibility and duty, ones which everyone could see were slowly killing him. In all the years Prompto had been friends with Noct, he very seldom saw the King, and he knew that for Noctis it was the same. Prompto dreaded a reality like that would repeat itself.

“You- aha… unbelievable.” The touch of Noctis’ hand running over Prompto’s own was enough the draw the blond back to reality. “You- you’re precious, Stardust.”

“ _Stardust_?” Prompto gawped, dumbfounded at the sudden vocabulary change. Noctis wasn’t exactly the sort of pet-names after all.

“Yeah, my Stardust.” Noctis squeezed once at Prompto’s hand, his other moving from Prompto’s back; reaching up to cup the side of his face. “Gods…” Noctis whispered, rubbing his thumb back and forth, stopping just as he reached the corner of Prompto’s lips. “Why did we wait for so long?”

“The excitement and flair of dramatic effect?” Prompto breathed, puffing out his chest as he laughed.

“Dude, shut up.” Noctis shook his head again, grinning wide from ear to ear, “Come ‘ere you-“ And then they were kissing. Kissing and kissing on the balcony until their lips grew rose and sore and the door clicked open and their friends had returned.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Prompto was exhausted, regardless of how the fear of nightmares plagued him. In fact, exhausted was perhaps an understatement. Prompto didn’t think he had every been so tired in all his life. More curiously so was the fact that he wasn’t all that entirely sure why. After such a long while he was finally able to rest and know that when he woke up he wouldn’t be alone or with Ardyn and wishing he was.

Nevertheless, it seemed rude to bail out of attending what would be his first hunters gathering at Hammerhead. Cindy had told him it was the time in which plans were made decide who would be leaving and where; be that scouting for food, rescue missions, or simply the sport of daemon slaughter. In any event- even if the decisions were democratic- Prompto assumed he’d be placed at the top of the list for the latter option. Not that he particularly minded, if it would keep him occupied until Noctis returned.

He continued to only offer half of his attention as multiple different hunters- Cindy and Mics amongst them- fought and devised plans amongst themselves as the others who sat on the tarmac of the garage all watched on and gave the occasional nod and varied input. Prompto secluded himself towards the back of the small crowd, sat down with his knees up high, hopefully drawing any unwanted attention away from himself.

“Why are you really here?”

Or so he had hoped.

“I told you- I just need time… to clear my head.” Prompto sighed, letting his legs fall down away from his chest as he turned to face Wallace beside him.

“Yeah and that truth stretches about as far as your foreskin I bet. What’s the real reason?” Prompto tried his best to let the graphic metaphor dissolve before it had chance to etch itself inside his brain.

“I don’t know you-“ He choked, looking about to spot any clear breakaways he could make in order to avoid the conversation with the young woman entirely.

“Just like these people here don’t know you.” Wallace’s voice was firm despite its low whispering tone. She chewed at his lip and nodded at her own words as she spoke, as if she were accepting them as the world’s only truth. “The way Talcott talks about you, the way you talked about yourself; all this about fighting Niffs and killing daemons… it sounds like wherever you go, a whole lot of trouble tends to follow.”

“I’m not here to cause anyone any trouble.” Prompto frowned, crossing his arms defensively at his chest.

“And how do you suppose you’ll stop it coming our way?” Without her eyes leaving the discussion ahead of the small crowd; Wallace raised her hand slightly, ushering Prompto to keep his voice low and not draw attention. “The folk here, they’re not real fighters, they’re just living on as best they can. They don’t need you here ruining what little peace they have left.”

Prompto found himself looking around, surveying the group of residents ahead. Most were younger then Prompto himself, bar a few exceptions such as Mics and a couple of veteran hunters. Children too, hugging close to their mother’s chests, somehow blissfully unaware of their surroundings enough so that they could rest their eyes easily.

“You said it yourself, the journey down from Lestallum was difficult enough for yourself. You really think this lot could survive it if Hammerhead was to fall?”

No, Prompto was sure they wouldn’t. The reality of it plagued him, and his face grew hot with a panicked frustration. Why was this all his responsibility all of a sudden? He wasn’t in command of all these people, he didn’t _want_ to be.

“You’re here because there is something you need to do, right?” Wallace continued on restlessly, and damn her she was persistent. “You might not know entirely what it is yet, but I can see it… it’s in your eyes.”

Prompto turned to face the her for that, and in doing so did he grow startled to find Wallace already staring back; her inky pupils trained and narrow. She was perhaps the scariest woman Prompto had ever met, save Aranea perhaps. She emitted a forcefulness and passionate determinism, painting her unwavering in her beliefs.

“Don’t let these innocent people get caught up in the crossfire when you figure it out, you hear me?” Wallace let the threat carry low under her breath, somewhat hidden as she ran her fingers through the short black waves of her hair.

“And how do you suppose I keep them out of a trouble I don’t even know I have?” Prompto hissed, pushing himself up from the floor and excusing himself away from the congregation of people with a little disturbance as possible.

“Tell them the truth about who you are.” Prompto rolled his eyes as he heard Wallace’s voice following closely behind him, all the way across the lot to the stairs of the caravan. “ _Let_ them have faith in you.”

“You’re a little more uptight then your brother-in-law, you know that?” Prompto shook his head wildly, hanging back out the door of the van. “I didn’t come here to try and lead anybody. That’s Noct, not me.”

“You don’t have to.” Wallace tried to force herself up, though Prompto kept his ground. “But you’ve got to understand that being associated with the King the way you are; people are goin’ to expect something from you. You can make them feel safe.”

“And what if I can’t?” Prompto knitted his brows, grasping tight onto the door of the trailer, fighting against Wallace’s own grip to force it to remain open.

“If you’re gonna stay here, then you owe it to these people that you’ll be able to protect.”

“I’m tired. Let me go to bed.” Prompto ignored the demands, pulling harshly against the door until it slipped from Wallace’s grasp.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt because the boy knew you and Mics seems fond of you. Don’t make me regret it.” Wallace snapped back, swatting Prompto’s words away with the back of her hand and turning to leave without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s here! Apologies for the long delay, I just moved back into University and took some time to settle into my new routine. 
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoy the update, expect a couple of time skips coming soon from now on. Thank you!

The air felt cool and clinical, uncomfortable enough for mounds of goosebumps to appear in uniform clusters, and the faint blond hairs at Prompto’s arms to stand on edge. The scene moved too rapidly, random fragmented memory of school corridors twisting and turning. The choppy images flashed with a desirable vibrancy, drawing Prompto in deeper and deeper. He couldn’t feel himself walking, the pressure of his feet against the floor, or the squeak of his boots against the tiles. Instead Prompto floated on the air, riding on nothingness. Gradually he gained pace, faster and faster. With each passing moment the image became distorted, more and more difficult to comprehend until it vanished entirely.

Prompto’s body heaved up swiftly as his eyes opened, momentarily overwhelmed with a sudden panic when he realized he didn’t instantly recognize his surroundings. The momentum was too strong, and as he sat upwards Prompto’s head collided against the bunk above him, and a string of retaliatory curses soon followed.

“Damn-“ Prompto sighed tiredly, reaching up to cup at his head as he shivered awake.

“Good rest, Sir?” Prompto shifted to rest on his hip, turning to find Talcott sat, legs hanging off the side of the empty bed opposite him.

“Oh, Talcott… hey.” Prompto yawned, rubbing at his tired eyes until they focused properly on the young teen across from him. “You, uh… you been watching me sleep long?” Prompto laughed in awkward discomfort.

“Oh! Nonono sorry, I was just-“ Prompto’s eyes cast down amidst Talcott’s panicked explanation, finding his camera he’d left securely inside his backpack in the boy’s hands. “I’m _so_ sorry, I just wanted to look back at your photos- to see the sun and- and the Prince… it’s been so long…”

“Woah, woah it’s fine.” Prompto calmed Talcott with a raise of his hand, sitting up properly in his new bed and gesturing the teen to come sit beside him.

Talcott hesitated a moment, still embarrassed over having been caught sneaking through Prompto’s belongings. Eventually his fears subsided, and the lanky-limbed boy perched down beside Prompto on the bed, handing the camera back over.

The screen was already alive and glowing brightly, illuminating the image of Noctis, crouched down low at Talcott’s height and holding onto his wrist, helping the young boy aim the dart in his hands towards the target. Towards the back of the image was Gladio laying half asleep, book open at his chest, taking up the entire couch with his size. Ignis and Iris sat in front of him at the floor, smiling merrily amongst themselves as they watched Noctis and the young Talcott play. It was taken inside the safe house at Cape Caem; only a few nights before they had made the journey over to Altissia, if Prompto’s memory served him well.

“This is a good one.” Prompto commented, smiling softly as he studied the image. It was perhaps one of the rare occasions he had actually managed to capture Noctis _not_ brooding in front of extended company.

“I think it’s my favorite.”  Talcott struggled on his words as Prompto handed him back the camera. The blond waited patiently for the boy to explain himself, watching how Talcott’s youthful plump hands cradled the camera.

“Prince Noctis… he always spoke to me like I was someone important. He never looked down on me because I was a commoner, or a kid. Instead he’d make me feel safe and… _strong_.” Talcott’s breath came out in a stammer, as if it ricocheted against his own words.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Prompto coughed dryly. The boy’s words rang too true, and planted a sadness uncomfortably deep in Prompto’s gut.

“Sorry, of course. I didn’t even think… he was your friend right, your best friend?” Prompto’s stomach churned.

“Yeah… I guess you could say that.” He blinked swiftly, forcing away the sting in his eyes.

“You’ve not taken any pictures since it got dark.” Talcott sighed sadly, continuing to flick through the album of photographs, “Not like there’s much reason to I suppose.”

Prompto found himself pitying the boy once again. It was a struggle to see Talcott so downtrodden. He was a source of light, of energy. If anything, Prompto didn’t think he had the power left in him to keep smiling himself if Talcott couldn’t too.

“Well, why don’t we?” Prompto grasped the camera back, swinging off the end of the bed and spinning on the tips of his toes as he stood.

“What?” Talcott frowned, skeptical of Prompto’s new-found energy.

“Why shouldn’t we take pictures? Then we can show them to Noct once he returns.”

“Really?”

Prompto pulled the camera up to his face, squinting through the view finder until he caught sight of Talcott’s uplifted grin. He took the shot before the moment had time to pass, and the large flash of white that followed was brighter than most things left in the world.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

As Prompto had suspected; he hadn’t hardly enough time to settle into his surroundings before he was beginning to be hauled away with patrol missions. It didn’t take much effort for him to accept, he knew that to be able to survive comfortably in Hammerhead, he’d need to pull his weight.

The ventures were not so bad in retrospect, only a few miles out each way; and most of the daemons were vaguely familiar territory to the young man. It only took the first couple of smaller fights to stretch him back into his usual shape.

The seemingly ever-optimistic Mics had been rather quick to invest Prompto into his own hunting faction. Gratefully, he made sure to keep Talcott close by, as well as two other hunters- Boris and Carmichael- who were both effective enough in managing weaponry, and were expert enough in the slaying of daemons to handle their own.

Prompto had grown quite fond of the company. The men were easy enough to get along with, and let Prompto go about his business in a swift and undisturbed manner. Wallace was nowhere to be seen either. The last Prompto had heard she had been put on gate duty by Cindy until further notice; pleasing Prompto that he could rest easily out on patrol without the fear of Wallace’s hawking eyes watching over him.

“No way man, fried barramundi beats out salmon any day, it’s just juicier, ya know?”

“Whatever dude, I’m sticking with my roots. Salmon was always my mama’s specialty.”

Prompto continued on in a steady pace, comfortable in his own silence and ignoring the other four men conversing beside him.

“What about you Argentum? Any favorite past time recipes?” Boris chirped, pulling his jacket tighter around himself in an effort to escape the frigid night breeze.

“Doesn’t taking about this sort of thing, I dunno, bum you out?” Prompto frowned, turning his head from left to right, scanning the dark desert plains for any signs of unusual movement.

“Nah, not anymore.” Carmichael was of a heavier build than Boris, his shoulders were broader and legs thicker. Both men were dark-skinned, little hair between them, and walked in a solid unison that would have anyone who didn’t know them believe they were related.

“Remembering life before the Darkness ain’t all that different than thinking about a dream you once had.” Boris finished his partner’s sentence for him.

Prompto contemplated the outlook for a long while. _‘A dream’_ , it felt almost dangerous for him to consider the past as such. If he thought of the past as nothing more than a dream, then what did that make of Noctis? Prompto knew, truer than anything else that Noctis was real. He had felt him close, his touch and his soul. To deem Noctis and the time they spent together nothing but a memory felt almost like a betrayal.

“Have you got one then, Sir?” Talcott’s high-tone voice drew back Prompto’s attention.

“Got one, what?”

“A favorite dish?”

“Green Soup Curry. Or, maybe Daggerquill rice. Peppery.” Prompto replied with little hesitation; finding himself licking at his lips at the mental image of the steaming fluffy rice on his tongue.

“Oh, so you’re a spice kind of guy I take it?” Boris laughed, nodding attentively.

“That’s what Lestallum does to you.”

“You’re crazy for leaving that place. You know how many folks in Hammerhead dream of being able to make it to Light City alive?” Prompto dipped his head, partly out of shame, but also a raging embarrassment.

It seemed new travelled fast in Hammerhead; everyone and their mother knew who Prompto was already.  No thanks to Wallace, Prompto imagined. Luckily enough, Boris and Carmichael appeared rather unfazed by Prompto’s background as a royal guard. The fact that he was a clone product of the Niflheim Empire on the other hand; well that was best left saved for a later (never) date.

“Head up lads, looks like we’ve got a pack.” Mics dipped down low with a sharp whistle.

He continued forward through the brambly underbrush until he found cover behind the large metal carcass of an old Imperial dropship.

“Had to be Imps. Gods I hate those little shits.” Boris cursed, spitting at the ground.

“You and me both. Smaller targets.” Prompto agreed tiredly with a flick of his wrist, summoning his pistols and checking their cartridges.

“Boris, you and Tally head behind those rocks at the other side of the clearing, cover us?” Mics ordered with a familiar ease, offering Talcott and Boris a short thumb up as they nodded and departed.

Prompto watched with caution as Talcott hurried away into the cover of darkness. He swallowed thick, shaking his worries from his mind.

“Don’t worry, he’s a smart kid. Just you watch.” Mics offered, bumping his shoulder slightly against Prompto’s own.

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine. So, what’s our plan?” Prompto planted his back against the side of the dropship, craning his neck to keep an eye on their targets around the corner.

Seven Imps by count, biting and clawing at each other; their hisses sharp and volatile.

“Well, what would you usually do?”

“Resort to organized chaos. Hope for the best.” Prompto replied placidly, turning back to find Mics closer than before, his face mere centimeters away from Prompto’s own.

“Sounds good enough to me. Let’s go!” Mics smirked as he slipped past Prompto; leaving the younger man flabbergasted as he barreled out from behind their cover with little hesitation.

With a shrug Carmichael followed, pulling down the curved blade from his back and making a heavy swing for the first Imp that charged in his direction. Prompto watched on for a moment, confused as to why Mics would choose to fight on the front lines armed only with his crossbow. Surely such a weapon would delay his reaction time, and leave him blindsided to attacks while he had to reload with every shot. But soon enough the methods in his madness began to piece themselves together. Gunfire in the distance; Talcott and Boris’ bullets flew past their ally’s heads with expert precision, swiftly eliminating any targets that posed an unsuspecting threat.

The display was mesmerizing. The four men worked with such a familiar ease that words were almost unnecessary. All they needed was their wits about them and a blind and sporadic trust in one another; one that would make them do crazy things, and one that would help keep them alive. Frankly Prompto was fascinated.

He knew they didn’t need him in this particular moment, not truly. But the sudden thrill that overpowered him, a desperate want to be out there and engage and fight beside those men was enough to carry Prompto’s feet forward and his pistols up to fire.

“Nice of you to join us!” Mics laughed through a strained pant, thrusting his back up against Prompto’s for cover as he reloaded his crossbow.

“I was enjoying the show, that’s all!” Prompto smirked, firing twice at an Imp closing in, then again once to his right, missing the second daemon by a fraction. “Damn, Mics?”

“I got it.” Prompto ducked down as the older man rose up, thrusting his bow out and firing again and hitting the Imp directly in the chest. “Is that all of them?”

Prompto scanned the plain, the air began to quieten, and the ring of gunfire at his ears.

“Yep, that’s the last of them.” Carmichael sighed, driving his blade once more immobile corpse of the Imp at his feet for good measure, smiling slightly as he watched it disappear into a cloud of purple smoke.

Talcott and Boris emerged from their vantage point to meet with the others, losing their empty cartridges. Prompto slug us arm around Talcott on his approach, squeezing the boy into a short, tight hug.

The heavy crash that followed was enough to startle all five men out of their skin. Boris and Carmichael thrust out their weapons out in an instant, aiming at the caved-in hanger doors of the Imperial dropship.

The air rang silent, each body holding their breath, eyes unblinking. Talcott took a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Prompto hissed protectively, pulling his hand up to the boy’s chest.

“I’m just gonna look.” Talcott carried on forward, creeping with silent steps, his body low.

Prompto tried to move forward, though Mics hand at his shoulder was quick to stop him.

“Wait. Trust him.” Mics whispered, Prompto’s eyes remaining unblinking as he sucked in a breath, watching as Talcott continued in his steady approach.

The young man raised his hand slowly, shot gun loaded and prepared in his second. Talcott reached out towards the hanger door, grabbing hold to pull the metal away. Minutes appeared to descend into hours, and Prompto’s patience became unbearable to maintain as he watched Talcott move away the debris of the dropship door. The metal whined as it fell away, creaking with a rusted squeak that stung Prompto’s ears.

“I think it’s okay.” Talcott confirmed with an elated sigh, spinning around on his heels with a wide grin at his face.

Prompto felt Mics relax his weight at his back; a gesture which somewhat alleviated Prompto’s nervous caution, if only for a moment. The screeches sounded before the impact hit, high-pitched and guttural. Talcott fell forward in a flurry of pure fright, hardly daring to look back as the horde of Imps cascaded the ship at every-which angle. Crawling on their hands and feet from the roof, tumbling over the tops of one another like termites retreating from the soil.

The daemons continued to rupture like boils, tens upon what felt like hundreds; seemingly never-ending. Prompto wasn’t sure if he spoke as he moved, if so it was nothing more than a yelp or a hiss. He met Talcott halfway, reaching out and scratching his hold of the boy at his forearm, pulling Talcott as safely as he could behind him before Prompto summoned his firearms and begun his flurry of bullets.

“FUCK!” Boris growled, firing only twice before throwing his firearm back over his shoulder and pulling free the knife strapped to his calf. “ _FUCK!_ ”

“Talcott!” Prompto barked, shaking the teen hard in an effort to wake him from his frightful stance, “Knife!”

“R-right!” The boy affirmed, pulling his own small blade from his belt and beginning to make work of stabbing at the horde of Imps beginning to cluster at his feet.

Prompto continued to move backwards, until all five men were bunched together as tightly as they could. The beasts soon surrounded them, biting and slashing away, long claws digging tight into the fabric of their trouser legs, closing in on the skin of the men’s ankles.

“Prompto!”

Prompto continued to fire, until he was sure every stray Imp that flocked from the ship had been taken care of. The air became thick with the stench of sweat and gunpowder; shrouded in a blinding purple fog.

“How many of them?”

Tens, _hundreds_ ; Prompto found himself unable to respond. Shooting was all he could acknowledge, his only reflex. Relentlessly he fired at the floor around him, striking each and every demonic limb he caught escaping through the purple mist.

“Prompto!”

Talcott’s frantic whimpers rang closest to Prompto’s ears, further fueling his bullet-driven rage. He caught sight of the boy in a single flash, watching as he ripped each imp that clung to his legs and feet, slicing them bloody and throwing them back down against the ground.

Boris and Carmichael appeared to be succeeding in a similar feat, the latter making use of the larger blade he carried to cut cleanly through as many Imps that dared snap close enough. Even so, the threat appeared never-ending, and Prompto could feel the rush of momentum that had carried him thus far slowly beginning to failing him. The daemons crawled their way higher and higher- riding up to the tail-end of his coat- and he found himself using his elbows and the back end of his pistols to swat the beasts away.

“Prompto- _help_!” Mics appeared to have drifted from the group, crossbow high above his head, unloaded. He struggled wildly as he tried desperately to knock the heavy flow of Imps that swarmed up his legs.

He fell first onto the tailbone of his back, and the Imps were quick to swarm his lower body until they had him pressed down and his shoulders hit the soil.

Prompto’s eyes widened as he watched Mics become engulfed beneath the swarm of daemons, his limbs flailing madly in an attempt to rip the creatures away. His face was bloodied and soiled, littered with fresh scratches, his loose hair knotted with dirt and beginning to tangle within the Imps long talon-like fingernails.

Mics’ desperate cries for help grew louder and more desperate, and Prompto wondered why it was no one had come to rescue him yet. What were the others doing? Someone must have an answer. Prompto’s feet remained stapled to the floor, the air around him thinning, so cold it turned crisp as it hit his lips.

Surely there would be someone around who could help?

“ _UAHH_ _PLEASE_ \- P-PROMPTO!”

Antonia. The girl. The image of them, of their bodies at Prompto’s feet, it was all he could see clearly. Prompto felt the bile rise in his throat, and his stomach panged with an old and tired ache. He couldn’t do it, not again. He couldn’t lose someone he was trying to save; he couldn’t bare hating himself for any longer.

No one else was coming to help, that much was for certain.

Prompto threw himself forward as he took off in a sprint until he reached Mics, hovering above him and without thinking he begun to rip away the Imps with his hands, trying to pry the other man free. The daemons appeared infested however, grown rapidly familiar with the taste of Mics blood, and intent on scavenging every single ounce of him. Prompto flung back and just as quickly summoned one of his pistols, taking the weapon in both hands. He squinted down the barrel, struggling to decide which Imp to strike first.

No. he would risk hitting Mics this way. In fact, Prompto was certain. Without allowing his fresh plan to even promulgate in his mind, Prompto sprang into action. With swift yet shaking hands he emptied the gun of its cartridge, making sure to screw his eyes shut as he thought about the fresh one he summoned.

A silent plea rang in his mind as if it were jammed stuck on repeat, _‘please, please, please let this work_ ’. Prompto aimed once more, arms swaying with every-which movement. He could just about make out Mics’ face amongst the flurry of daemonic bodies, his pained and bloody expression, pleading screams sounding higher and more volatile than any of the daemons shrieks.

Prompto fired, the momentum causing him to recoil back slightly, grasping at his ears to try control the ringing. He breathed in deep and readied himself to fire again, the bang sounded, flash illuminating from the tip of the barrel, and the Imps begun to scatter. The daemons squawked, fingernails clawing into the dirt as those closest to the blast begun to flee on all-fours.

Mics seized his opening, thrusting his hand out, fingers flailing, giving Prompto the chance to grasp hold, pulling the older man up with all the strength he could muster.

“Come on- We’re getting out of here!” Prompto panted, slapping Mics at the chest and tucking his arm under Mics own to carry some of the man’s limping weight.

“Y-you-“ Mics struggled as he limped, frantically attempting to keep up in time with Prompto’s run, “you can summon blanks?”

“Apparently so.” Prompto half-laughed, continuing to swat away each Imp that jumped up close, kicking them to the floor and crushing them under his boot heel.

Prompto felt Mics laugh under him, body sagging with a pained exhaustion, head shaking with a slight disbelief.

“You really are something else.”

“Yeah well, you can kiss his ass once we get out of here.” Carmichael was the first rushing over to meet Prompto and take Mics’ from under his arm, hauling the injured man up over his shoulder with little struggle.

“I think we got most of them!” Talcott panted, hurrying close to Prompto’s side, face quickly forming with worry when he caught sight of the startled Imps not far behind Prompto. Gradually they begun to break free of their daze, shaking themselves from the trance the shock of the blank bullets had left them in. Angrier now, the beasts snarled and clicked their fangs, keening their bodies ready to pounce forwards.

“Come on. Move!” Prompto ordered, hastily shoving the men forwards until they started in a sprint. Imps may be slippery beings, but they were only quick enough for a time. The five of them could outrun the beasts on open plains easily enough, as long as they were no longer cornered.

 

Once the hunters had successfully made their distance, the journey back to Hammerhead had been trouble-free for the most part. Mics- voice coarse with exhaustion, and head dazed from where he had fallen against the rocks- passed in and out of consciousness within Carmichael’s arms.

Wallace’s face turned white upon their approach. She sprinted from her station on the front gates, practically knocking Carmichael to the floor as she ripped Mics from his arms. There was no serious damage, though his skin had been rendered badly mangled, leaving scars at his face and ankles.

Everyone was eager to question Prompto’s quick thinking with the blank cartridge, and when pried by other hunters, Prompto struggled to produce any sort of valid excuse that wouldn’t make him sound completely insane. No one could truly understand that all Prompto had to do was to _think_ of what he needed in that moment and that Noctis would somehow know to give it to him, from wherever he was. Wallace seemed unsatisfied with each response Prompto gave, instead only briskly complaining that if his plan were to have backfired he could have very-well ended up killing Mics himself.

Regardless of circumstance, the novelty was quick to die down, and the everyday struggle each survivor faced became top priority once again. Prompto settled well into routine after that particular venture. Each day that came and passed became easier than the last; for the first time in seven years Prompto felt that he could make a useful impact on those around him.

Prompto found he no longer felt the same painful guilt for how he had left things with Gladio and Ignis. He was free to manage himself if he so chose to, and he had new, fresh faces around him who trusted his judgment and saw him as a valuable ally.  Time appeared to pass at a much faster rate, and soon the weeks begun to pile up into months. He knew Noctis would return soon, Ardyn had told him that. Now each and every day without him was not a day shrouded in fear and unknowingness, but a with hope, that the next day might be the last he suffered through a dark night alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies it has been so long! I have been drowning in work and as much as I've wanted to write, whenever i did find free time, my writers block has just been terrible! I hope this was worth the way, I'm very excited to write what's to come.  
> Thank you again for the support!

_The corridors appeared to Prompto again and again. Almost nightly, the same dream would reoccur. Sharply moving, violently twisting hallways always leading to the same place, the same set of deep green metal double-doors. The sign that hung above the entrance glistened like a medal on a prize counter, bright and prominent and drawing Prompto towards it for all it was worth._

 

“The school library?”

“Yep.” Prompto took a sip from the mug of hot water cradled in his hands. “Almost every night it’s the same.”

“Nothing else?” Talcott hummed with a skeptical contemplation. His eyes narrowed as he continued to scan what he could of the sand dunes ahead.

The floodlights overhanging from the high fences of Hammerhead swallowed the boy, engulfing him in a white light. it was almost uncomfortable for Prompto to look at Talcott directly from his place beside him at the front gates. And although he squinted, the light rendered Talcott naked enough that each crease of tiredness stood out ever-more clearly. The dark purple rings under his yes, the redness that surrounded his pupils.

Over a year had passed by since Prompto had arrived in Hammerhead; it was still dark, they were as exhausted as ever.

“The Chancellor… he’s been quiet for so long now. I think it’s this place, I think he can’t reach me here.” Prompto chewed at his bottom lip, nodding to himself in affirmation.

Prompto couldn’t recall how far back it had been when others had first become aware of Ardyn Izunia’s nightmarish attacks whilst he slept. It wasn’t as if those such as Talcott or Mics knew the man directly, so when they brought up the question as to why Prompto has been crying out the name in his sleep during a collect and extract mission at the far side of Leide; Prompto tried his best to save any _unnecessary_ details.

To refer to him simply as the Chancellor appeared to be enough to satisfy Talcott, whose wounds over the murder of his grandfather were still fresh and unresolved. Talcott wore his hatred for the Niff’s like a badge of honor; and as much as that sometimes frightened Prompto, it did feel relieving to have others to talk to about his dreams (at least to some extent).

“But the dreams. They’re still weird.” Talcott struggled to find the right words as Prompto continued to stare him down, curious of the young man’s uncertain disposition. “I mean I don’t dream about crazy stuff like that… I don’t dream about anything much anymore.”

“This is different.” Prompto reassured with a cut nod, “I think- I think it’s instructions. It’s Noct. He wants me to go to the library.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Not a chance.” Mics laughed drily, fingers tugging harshly through the lengthy strands of his hair in an effort to detangle the mess under the chilly rush of water spouting in infrequent bursts from the shower head above.

“Dude, you barely heard my plan.” Prompto whined, eyes screwed shut as he scrubbed harshly at his face, rubbing away that the deep-set dirt in his skin.

“I don’t need to. There’s no way the others are going to let you go,” Mics turned his head from left to right, lowering his voice, mindful of the other men piled in and talking amongst themselves within the community shower station. “ _there_.”

Prompto lowered his hands from his face, offering Mics a short glare before turning his back and picking up his bar of soap, reaching around his back to scrub at his shoulder blades.

“Listen. It’s not like I don’t think these dreams of yours mean something…” Mics sighed tiredly, twisting at shower nozzle until the water above him subsided, and he reached behind him for his towel, tying it at his waist.

“But you can’t help. I get it.” Prompto shook off, chewing hardly at his lip, hoping that might soften the sour taste on his tongue.

The was no use arguing the matter; Mics was a man fixed in his beliefs, and if he didn’t think Prompto’s plan to investigate Insomnia was worthwhile; he sure as hell wouldn’t help fund the idea off the ground.

With a sigh, Prompto nipped at the bridge of his nose before turning towards the benches at the far side of the shower block.

“Wait a second- come on!” Prompto ignored Mics, already half-dressed as the older man continued hurriedly rinsing the soap from his body, tying his own towel at his waist and catching up once he had finished.

Slinging his towel over his shoulder, Prompto paddled barefoot in his jeans between the bodies of naked men queuing for their turn to take over one of the few functional shower heads fitted outside around the back of the Hammerhead convenience store.

His had had barely pulled the plastic tarp curtain all the way back before he was bombarded with the sight of bouncing blonde curls and the familiar harmonious chime of Cindy’s voice.

“Well howdy ya’ll!” Prompto jolted back as Cindy peered in, grin wide and eyes twinkling.

“AGH! M-MISS CINDY!?” Mics squawked, awkwardly attempting to make sure the towel at his hips kept firmly in place.

Behind them a few more shrieks and yelps could be heard; an embarrassed flurry of men nervously protecting their dignity and crying out that it wasn’t scheduled for women to be in the shower block until 11am.

“Prompto! Could I lend you a tick ‘r two?” Cindy chimed, head tilted and fingers drumming against the plastic tarp curtain in her hands.

“Uh… y-yeah sure!” Prompto stammered, lips pressed tightly in a thin line to try halt the nervous laughter bubbling from within.

Giving Mics one quick glance back, eyebrows raised, skeptically; Prompto rubbed once more at his hair with his towel before slinging it back over his shoulder and following Cindy out around the front of the old store.

 

“I’m awful sorry for intruding but I have something I’ve just been dying to show you.” Cindy carried on, steps rushed and heavy all the way across the lot.

Prompto found himself glancing around as he weaved through the bodies of people, conversing around their campfires or busy at work distributing rations and weapons shipments.

_“Don’t let these innocent people get caught up in the crossfire…  you hear me?”_

Wallace’s threat burrowed itself inside Prompto’s mind, like the sting of a killer wasp, sending him into a frantic panic that brought a sweat to his brow. Mics was right, it was dangerous for him to consider heading to Insomnia, selfish even. What if he led the enemy right to Hammerhead’s doorstop? What if him leaving would render all the innocent lives around him even more vulnerable to the threat of daemons?

And yet even so, the dreams called out to him, louder than anything else, far more powerful and strong than any other fear. He had to go, whether that be for Noctis or for himself he was still unsure. All he knew for certain was that it was a sign, whatever it was that was drawing him toward Insomnia, towards the school, inside the library. It wanted him- _needed_ him to come.

“I wasn’t sure it’d work out all that well, so I kept it quiet. But now- well, you’ll see. Come on!” Cindy’s hand at Prompto’s arm pulled him back into the fold.

He tried to clear his mind, revert himself back to the state of normality that he has ever-so mastered over recent years. The tactic aided him in staying invisible in the crowed amongst strangers, and falsely content around those whom he knew.

“I’m right behind you.” Prompto tried a short grin, watching as Cindy pulled across the sliding door of the garage before he followed her inside.

“Oh… could you close the door behind you please? And make sure it’s locked.” A nervous energy sparked inside of Prompto. He’d never known Cindy to a cryptic sort of person, and though years of harsh realities had stripped clean any remaining whimsical romantic fantasies Prompto had once harboured for Cindy; the prospect of being so scandalously inclined to lock the two of them alone in a dark room together while he was hardly dressed brought a pink tint to his ears.

“Uh… yeah! Y-yeah sure.” No matter how well Prompto had grown to accept the darkness and normalcy, he eyes continued to strain against the blackness, patting around to find the lock of the garage door.

Eventually successful, Prompto managed to only stumble over everything from a tool box to a table-end a record of three times before he managed to distinguish the direction of Cindy’s pottering around.

“You got a light?” Prompto fumbled awkwardly, fingers tightening into the damp towel around his neck.

“Oh sorry ‘bout that! There we go!” Prompto’s eyes widened, only to screw shut tightly when the torchlight begun to burn. “You know what? Keep your eyes shut just a tick, I’ll pull her up close.”

Prompto chewed at his bottom lip and nodded, fists closing tight and thumbs shaking back and forth in nervous suspense.

The air rang quiet for a long while. Sounds of the hunters and survivors outside the garage were all but inaudible from behind closed doors; leaving only the occasional sound of Cindy’s movements and Prompto’s shallow breath to bridge the gaps.

“You know-“ Prompto snorted lightly in an attempt to combat his own nerves, “think you gave Mics and all the other dudes in the shower block their biggest shock all week.”

Prompto tried his best to distinguish what he could. The sound of scraping metal, then something heaving being pulled across the floor. A sheet being pulled away.

“Well I’m about to give you an even bigger one.” Cindy sung, clapping her hands together twice, “Open up!”

Bashfully Prompto peaked his eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the light, which Cindy had thankfully turned away to his face, and towards what stood beside her. Its body was a deep orange chrome, though surprisingly it didn’t appear to be rusted. The rest of it was a light silver metal, except one handles and the spring forks, both black and clearly from a different model.

“I had to take out the brake lights and trip some of the wires, give more power to the headlight, I hope that isn’t too much of a problem. Not as if there is anyone else on the roads anywho.”

Prompto’s feet moved forward, inching in closer to get a better look. His hand reached out, brushing against the cool metal of the gas tank, then to the torn leather of the rider’s seat.

“How… where on earth did you get a bike?” Prompto’s voice radiated with a soft gasp, head shaking slightly with disbelief as he continued to circle the motorbike, grin only growing wider the longer he gaped.

“Hunter who passed through in Year 4, he had the shell of her in the trunk of his truck, left it with me to see if I had parts to make use of it for him. He died before I had chance to finish her up.”

Cindy’s brows softened, reaching out her fingertips and stroking at the handlebars herself.

“And… it works?” Prompto raised a brow, looking up to meet Cindy’s eyes.

“I’ve never tried her out on the road, but yeah she runs well.” Prompto frowned slightly, though before he could speak, Cindy answered his question for him. “The bike has been my secret project for so long now; I couldn’t tell any of those out there ‘bout her. Heartless maybe, but I couldn’t stand just anybody claiming her for god-knows what. I liked keeping her to myself, ya know? Something to keep my hands busy. Let me forget about everythin’ else happenin’ outside.”

“I understand.” Prompto nodded quickly, thoughts quickly trailing over every secret he’d ever kept to himself. His issues with his appearance as a kid, the tattoo at his wrist, his feelings for Noctis.

There was nothing wrong with being fond of keeping something close to ones-self, Prompto accepted that better then he imagined many did. What he didn’t understand now, was why Cindy was choosing to reveal her secret to him at all.

“Talcott told me about this plan of yours.” Prompto’s eyes widened as Cindy spoke, head swift in turning away, taking a few steps backwards. “The shmucks outside who like t’ talk the loudest wouldn’t like it.”

“I know.” Prompto was quick to defend, voice curt. He’d heard enough of people rejecting the prospect before it’d even seen the light. “It’s stupid. I can’t get their alone anyhow, not without that damn Wallace noticing I’ve gone, she’s up my ass about everything.”

“You’re right.” Cindy hummed, stepping around, staring at the bike seat a moment before turning to sit herself down against it. “And everyone knows I lock up the garage when people are sleepin’. So you’ve got no chance of stealing the bike while the doors’ locked.”

Prompto’s eyes widened, biting down softly on his tongue to stop himself from laughing. So it was going to be like that. Even after years of hell, Cindy was willing to jeopardies herself, go out of her way to help aid Noctis and his friends in any way she could.

“…. Yeah.” Prompto played along lightly, turning back around to face the bike. “It’s a shame, looks like this thing could get me to Insomnia and back in nothing but a couple of hours.”

Cindy pushed herself up from the bike, taking a couple of steps forward until her face was but a few inches away from Prompto’s own. The torchlight in her hand pointed up, reflecting a warm orange light against both their faces. Prompto saw it now she was closer, the aged lines under her eyelids, the painful redness of them. Cindy’s lips were bitten and dried, matured with nervousness and rage and every other emotion in-between. But somehow, despite it all, there was still hope left in her. She still felt warm, her eyes still sparked with life. Nothing was over yet, there was still a chance to combatt all the mess that laid waste around them. At least as far as Cindy was concerned.

“You do what you need to do Mr. Cameraman.” Cindy’s lips turned up just enough to smile. It was all Prompto needed to understand that she was going to support him. “Just bring him home to us soon, okay?”

Unlike so many others it appeared Cindy actually saw hope in Prompto’s tragedy. He was broken-down and torn apart from the inside out. He’d lost the one person he loved unwillingly, without ever-wavering. Noctis was far too strong for Prompto to ever deny, regardless of how it made his heart ache. Though it seemed Cindy actually understood unlike everybody else; that the power Noctis had over Prompto was not necessarily his weakness, but a driving force for him to keep moving forward.

“Yeah-“ Prompto choked slightly on his words, blinking fast so to hold himself together. “I’m going to try.”

 

 

  

*

 

  

The working day proceeded to drag with a relentless monotony so prevalent that Prompto was sure everyone inside of Hammerhead was personally out to make sure the hours before curfew were the longest and most agonizing possible.

Prompto tried his best to keep his head low and avoid attention. He hid a travel bag under his bed, only packing enough potions and elixirs to avoid the suspicion of his bunk mates. He made sure not to speak to Mics at all of the plan he’d revealed in the shower blocks, though also kept a close and stealthy ear on the man whenever he spoke to Wallace. It appeared Mics had done well to keep the plan to himself, and for that Prompto was grateful. 

The hardest part of his escape plan however, was most definitely in the actual execution. Regardless of how carefully he studied which hunters would be posted where across the site that evening; Prompto could never imagine how much gods-given, pure luck he’d need. The corners and crevasses of the lot that were not painted bright with the daemon-proof flood lights were few and far between. And Prompto darted, dodged and rolled between each hiding place out of sight as if there was no tomorrow. It seemed almost comical to him, as if he was some sort of super spy like that one in the comic Noct used to read- what was it called again?

Perhaps Noct could remind him once he was back; Prompto focused on that thought as he moved forward towards the garage doors. Prompto winced upon the approach, too confident in his movements until he found himself face-first against metal.

“Oft!” Prompto groaned, pealing himself away from the garage door, eyes widening instantly as the harsh ring of metal hit his ears.

“You might wanna be careful Sir, would hate to let anyone know what ya up to.” Prompto snapped up straight at the sound, head whipping back to find Talcott behind him, bag at his back and shotgun over his shoulder.

“Talcott you- how-“ Prompto struggled pitifully, arms flailing against the doors, eyes still scanning about frantically for any signs of rogue movement.

“I’ve already taken the bike around to the sealed gate at the back.” Talcott pulled a ringlet of keys from his coat pocket, twirling them around his finger ideally. “Though we better be quick. Gotta leave before anyone notices I’ve left my station.”

“You’re not-“ Prompto scoffed, then frowned, generally struggling to come to terms with the suggestion, “you’re not coming with me, dude.”

Talcott appeared to take little offence; instead simply grinning as he brushed passed Prompto. The older man hurried on after Talcott down the short cut-through to the back of the garage; calling ahead in a frantic whisper-

“I’m _serious_ Talcott! It’s too dangerous.” Prompto barked, temper continuing to rise as the two of them reached the bike, hidden skillfully in a small clearing amongst storage boxes and scrap parts.

“Yeah it is. So I’m gonna be there to help you.” Talcott nodded coolly, moving boxes around the clearing until the back gate was clear. He pulled out the keys once again and before long the gate swung open.

“Did Cindy put you up to this?”

“We both figured you could use the company.” Talcott shrugged, hoisting his leg over the top of the bike, sitting down. He scooted backwards, patting the seat in front of him. “Now are we goin’ or what?”

Prompto paused, eyes focused on the boy. He hardly recognized him anymore, the way he’d altered with age, his cheeks lacking their once youthful pink tint. Even the mere existence of a weapon on Talcott’s back left self a sour taste in Prompto’s mouth.

“You’re sure you want to come?” Prompto’s voice broke slightly in a plead.

He knew he had not right to stop Talcott; he had as much reason to want to fight as the next guy, hell, he was tougher then a lot of folk Prompto had met. Perhaps it was the child still left inside Talcott that made him look up towards danger, and though cower like everybody else, also see an opportunity for adventure.

“Positive.”

“Son of a-“ Prompto cursed, rubbing at his face, “right okay! Okay. But you are going to listen to every single thing I say, you got that? I tell you to shoot, you shot. I tell you to hide, you hide.”

Prompto wavered as the last thought struck his mind. Perhaps he was overthinking things, maybe it wouldn’t have to come to that. Still, he needed to know that Talcott could do it, for Prompto’s own sake if not for the boy’s own. He just couldn’t afford to lose anybody else.

“I tell you to run and leave me, you do that. Got it?” Prompto clenched his fist tight before unraveling it again, bringing his hands up to the handle bars of the bike and swinging his leg over.

He felt Talcott’s breathe shudder at his back, and Prompto wondered for a moment if he’d gone too far, if the boy might actually back down after all.

“Yes, Sir.” Talcott said finally, hands reaching out to clutch at the back of Prompto’s jacket just as the engine started.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is the first FFXV fic I've ever written. But yeah, ever since I finished the game I've been wanting to write a 10-year fic. So stay tuned for more unavoidable angst and I hope you enjoy! Thank you!


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